


Break Even

by glennjaminhow



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt's the new kid in Pawnee, and Leslie Knope instantly befriends him. Their connection is strong from the very beginning, but things begin to shift when Leslie discovers his more sinister past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten a couple requests to post this, so I am finally going to. I hope it's somewhat decent, but I am looking for as much feedback as possible. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and I appreciate it to the moon and back! This is obviously my first attempt at any form of an AU, so I hope it's not too painful to read.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! :)

_October 16, 1991_

“The Harlem Globetrotters: America’s Most Blackest Basketball Team.”

Of course, the class snickers.

“Wait, what?” Leslie pauses her partner Andy hastily. “No. What he meant to say was ‘the Harlem Renaissance,’ which has nothing to do with basketball, your honor.”

Mrs. Cutkosky raises her eyebrows. “This is a history class, Miss Knope. There’s no need to call me ‘your honor.’”

She nods, folding her hands in front of her. "Of course, madam. Okay, now where were we?"

"Ooh, Leslie!" Andy whisper-yells from beside her. "Let's tell her about the pumpkin patch on East Sycamore! I broke my hand diving face first into the baby pumpkins. She'd love that!"

Leslie bites her lower lip, contemplating rolling her eyes. Because working with Andy Dwyer is like endorsing an insanely hyperactive, hairy puppy bear thing’s bad behavior, and it’s been as close of a nightmare as she’s came to in her sixteen years on earth. He usually chews copious amounts of bubble gum and makes out with his girlfriend April, while she created the seven poster boards for this presentation. “Uh, I think we’ll leave that out for now,” she tells him.

She’s just getting to the color-coded list of cultural influences and their beginnings when there’s a faint knock at Mrs. Cutkosky’s door. The elderly teacher looks annoyed as a kid in the first seat answers. Leslie’s heart pounds wickedly as she nearly starts pacing. She worked super hard on this, and now it’s all going to crap, and, poo on a stick, she just wants this to be impressive.

"Uh, hi," a teenage boy says awkwardly, white knuckling his backpack strap. "I'm, uh, Ben Wyatt..."

"And?" Mrs. Cutkosky asks.

The boy shrugs. "And I'm in your second period history class?" He says this like it’s a question. Extremely skinny and kind of on the short side with neatly parted brown hair, he’s wearing khakis that make him look more professional than any of the other guys at this stupid high school. There’s a slightly oversized green and blue flannel covering a grey shirt with something written on it. He’s standing there cluelessly, and Leslie almost feels bad for him.

"What? Didn't your parents teach you to be at school on time? Take a seat, Mr. Wyatt," she says with a wave of her hand.

Andy’s bouncing up and down on his heels, and the mean old bird gestures for them to continue, but Leslie finds it difficult to focus on anything else other than the cute boy sitting the third row.

~

“You’re Ben, right?” Leslie asks, walking beside the new kid in school. He was in her third period also. He sat in the very back, while she always sits in the front; it’s easier for her to spread out with binders and absorb the most information possible up there. She will admit that she broke concentration a few select times to glance back at him, and he looked just as bored as anyone else, other than her of course. But English isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

He nods, smiling briefly. “Yeah.”

“I’m Leslie Knope, President of Student Council. Well, future President of the United States actually.”

Ben grins once more, and, wow, he has gorgeous teeth. “It’s an honor to be in your presence, Madam President. So, what’re you thinking? 2020?”

She shakes her head incredulously. “More like 2008.”

“Um, don’t you have to be thirty-five to run for President?”

“I will be. In 2010. But I’m hoping they’ll lift the restrictions because of my superb filibustering skills. I could filibuster all day, everyday.”

He chuckles. “A good filibuster makes everyone feel better,” he points out.

They walk side by side until Ben reaches his locker. He places his tattered, torn backpack on the ground, leaning down to rifle through it. Leslie leans against another locker with her books tucked to her chest, glancing down at the dark haired guy. His voice is even deeper, more mature, than practically any other guy here, and there’s something about the way he carries himself that draws her closer to him.

“What’s your next class?” she asks.

“Gym, unfortunately.” He zips up his bag before shouldering it once more and closing his locker. He has such a pretty smile too, soft and sincere. How old is he? Because he could be in his twenties, but he’s only a tiny bit taller than her. Or he could be a bad boy flunky type, like one with tattoos and already drives and doesn’t have to check in with his parents.

She frowns. “Coach Erikson’s a real weirdo,” she says. “And he totally made a kid pee his pants the other day.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Gross... but good to know. Crap, I gotta go. See you around, Leslie,” he says kindly, shuffling off to the gymnasium.

~

“We meet again!” she says enthusiastically, plopping down beside him at the lab table in Biology, ignoring her usual spot in the front with Tommy Edwards, an idiotic jock who just cheats off of her anyway. “How’s the first day treating you?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright.” He taps his pencil on a well used notebook, glancing over at her with his hand tucked beneath his chin. A bare, angular chin with a scar on it, and she wonders how he got it. Sword fighting? Skateboarding? Being a knight in space? She doesn’t know, but she does know that his brown eyes light some excitement inside her. “How about you?”

It’s the kind of awkward getting to know each other talking, but it flows seamlessly between them, as if they’re old friends chatting over coffee. Except this is a relatively smelly high school classroom where they’ll be cutting fish and worms open, so, yeah, there’s that. “Great!” she says enthusiastically. “But I’m not looking forward to next hour.”

“Really? Why not?”

She shivers as the word “math” escapes her mouth.

“Which class?”

“Pre-Calculus.”

He smiles. “Me too. And don’t worry. I may not be that great with the rest of this junk, but I’m decent at math.”

“Good to know.”

~

She sits beside him in Mr. Ross’s class too, but he eagerly takes a front seat, whipping out his notebook and breezing through examples and practice problems like no one’s business. He never actually talks other than to answer questions, never tries to one up Tricia Yearwood, who’s a “goddess” at whatever she touches, which she can appreciate.

It almost feels like Ben isn’t even the new kid. People circulate through Pawnee High pretty well. It’s not too cliquey of a school, which comes in handy because there are even some jocks and cheerleaders in Student Council, her ultimate happy place. It’s not a an educational institution that’s overflowing with drama and gossip, and most get along relatively well with each other.

And, by the end of the period, Leslie’s convinced that Ben’s a lot better at math than what she even realizes; he seems like one of those guys where academics come effortlessly to him and that he actually cares about where he ends up in life. Preparation and organization are two of her strong suits, and, she doesn’t exactly know why or how, but she feels connected to him.

“What’s your GPA?” she asks randomly as they put their books away.

He glances at her skeptically. “Why?”

“I just want to know; I’m curious.”

“Why? Because you’ll stop talking with me if I’m stupid or too smart?”

“What? No. Of course not. But I’ve never seen anyone that good at math. I think you even caught Mr. Ross off guard.”

They start to walk down the hallway, their shoulders brushing every now and then, and Leslie tries to hide her blushes. “I’m good at math. Not really with other stuff.”

She doesn’t press anymore; it was only a question after all. But he definitely seems like he’d be great at Biology or English or even gym. Wait. Maybe, honestly, not gym; he’s a bit on the scrawny side for that. Ooh, but she bets he could run. And then the image of his butt in those blue shorts rushes in her mind and causes her to smile even more.

Wow, she must be weirder than she realized.

“4.3,” he says quietly after a little while, startling her.

Her eyebrows rise dramatically. “4.3? 4.3 what?”

Because soulmates.

“4.38,” he says nonchalantly as if this isn’t a big deal.

Which it totally is. A super great, ginormous, monstrous big deal.

“No way! Mine’s 4.33! We’re basically twins, Ben!”

She chooses to ignore the fact that she’s seething a teeny tiny bit beneath the surface because she has the highest GPA in Pawnee history.

He grins crookedly at her. “Dibs on being the older twin.”

“Not on your life, Wyatt. Girls are always the older twin. It’s just the rules.”

There’s two minutes before the next bell rings, and she’s so thankful it’s the last class of the day. “ Um, I don’t think that’s the law. Besides, I’m taller, so...” And he walks backwards with his arms widened in a gesture like he’s some kind of hot shot here on his first day.

And he’s, like, less than two inches taller than her, so it doesn’t count.

~

“Hey! Want to go to the Student Council meeting? I’m running it.” she says cheerfully.

Ben shakes his head. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Thank you, though.”

Polite too?

There’s gotta be something wrong with him.

He’s tugging on a black coat that looks like it’s seen much better days, all dusty and holey. “But there’ll be cupcakes,” she tells him almost sadly. “I made them myself.”

Ben sighs. “I have to go pick up my sister from the middle school.”

“You drive?”

“Walk,” he says shortly. “I’m gonna be late. Thanks for the offer!” he shouts, half sprinting down the hallway.

She frowns, finding it hard to exactly pinpoint her disappointment.

~

“I didn’t even ask where he’s from, Ann!” she sputters over the phone.

Her best friend sighs into the phone. “Minnesota. Andy was talking to him during lunch.”

“Minnesota? And you have lunch with him?”

“Dude, what is your problem?”

“I don’t know!” she says loudly. “I feel connected to him or something. You should’ve seen how easily we talked.”

“Oh, I see what’s happening now; you like him.”

“What? Me? Psshhh. No...”

She hears Ann chuckle. “Leslie, it’s normal. And you’ve never been interested in the guys from school before, which I totally understand because they’re idiots.”

“Except for Chris,” she points out.

“We broke up again today,” Ann says sadly. “He kept trying to make me lift weights with him. And it’s okay to like someone, Leslie. Plus, he is kinda cute, but he’s so short.”

“Super short,” Leslie says with a giggle. “But that’s okay. He has a 4.38 GPA!”

“Of course you know his GPA and not where he’s from.”

~

_October 17, 1991_

Her nerves spiral out of control as she re-curls her hair for the twelfth time in an hour. She’s never really been the type to freak out about guys before because, let’s face it, they think Africa is a country and that the sun revolves around the earth. Bu how can she possibly not want to talk to the only other person in her high school that has a GPA resembling hers and noticeably cares as much as she does? She can’t pass up this opportunity.

“Leslie, are you ready to go yet? You never take this long to get ready,” her mother complains, cracking open the door to her room a little more than halfway. “Alfred and I are gonna make pizza tonight.”

“Ew. Alfred?”

“Oh, c’mon, he’s not that bad.”

“Mom, his balls dangle to the floor.”

“Okay, you’ve been spending way too much time with me. You’re going to Ann’s this weekend.”

She shrugs and grins before brushing through her hair one last time. “That was the plan anyway.”

~

Ben’s back is to her as he stands at his locker. She smiles as she gives him a friendly, “Howdy, partner!” from behind.

He turns around, and she’s not really expecting to see the busted lip and black eye. Smaller bruises dot his cheek, and he seems so weary. And, also, his face is definitely messed up, and she just saw him yesterday! How the hell did this happen? And when the hell did she start caring about random guys she met literally less than twenty-four hours ago?

But she doesn’t feel comfortable pointing out what he already knows is there, so she ignores it. “Wanna walk to homeroom together?”

He nods, shoulders slouched as he kicks at the ground. They exchange nervous glances with each other multiple times, and Ben finally exhales loudly. “I –“

Leslie shakes her head, very suddenly (what is she doing?) grabbing his hand for a split second to give it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it.”

“Thanks,” he says shyly, quietly. “That, um, means... a lot to me.” He rubs the back of his neck, and her breath gets caught in the back of her throat when she spies the deep, dark contusions around his hips when his shirt lifts up a bit during the action. She almost covers her mouth; her eyes almost swell with tears.

What the hell happened to him?


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and the story overall so far!

_October 17, 1991_

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Steph asks, gesturing briefly to the slice of pepperoni pizza in her grasp.

Ben shakes his head before returning back to his homework. “Nah, not hungry.”

He hears his sister sigh exasperatedly before there’s some shuffling and then a paper plate plops down on his desk. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Quit it, Ben. Stop deflecting.”

“You’re twelve; how do you even know what ‘deflecting’ is?”

He turns around in the decrepit swiveling chair just in time to see the patented pre-teen eye roll. “You’re the one who used to read to me every night til I was ten. I probably learned it from you, considering you’re the queen of deflecting and all.”

Ben taps the wooden pencil on his Biology book, biting his bottom lip. He stares at the disgusting piece of pizza that’s greasy enough to drip through the plate and on to his desk. Gross. But these little microwavable things are all he can really afford right now, so they’ll have to make do. “Why don’t you just concentrate on your homework instead of on bugging me?”

“Jeez, you’re cranky tonight,” Steph points out. “Maybe you should actually get some sleep.”

But how the hell is he supposed to sleep when Steve chooses to go on drunken rampages and destroys the house? He was up until five cleaning their cracked, shattered fish tank, and Jimmy, Steph’s bright blue fish he somehow managed to keep alive for almost four years, died, all floppy and not being able to breathe, and Ben could’ve killed Steve. Yeah, Steph’s twelve, almost thirteen now, but it was still her fish. And now he’s gone. Just like that.

“Thanks for the advice,” he grumbles.

~

There’s a faint knock at his door around one in the morning, and he quickly unlocks it. The hallway’s too brisk, and Steph’s standing there with flushed cheeks and messy brown hair. “I puked,” she whispers sadly, and Ben instantly ushers her to his bed. It’s not like he was going to use it anyway; he’s been up reading his Spanish textbook since Steph laid down. She’s burning up beneath his palm, and, shit, tomorrow’s only Friday, and he can’t afford to skip school this soon. Surely someone would notice him being absent on only his third day there.

“I’m gonna get you some medicine,” he says softly, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her forehead and pulling the blue comforter over her shoulders as Steph curls into a ball on the mattress. Ben places his mini trashcan beside her just in case.

He tiptoes into the hallway, and is Steve even home? His heart slams into his chest, and he crosses his arms. It’s fucking freezing, and his stupid fucking father kicked in their space heater a few days ago, and his sister doesn’t feel well. His teeth chatter as he makes his way downstairs. Please don’t let him be home. He’s definitely not in the mood to deal with the idiocracy and the looming anxiety attack tonight.

“Groceries,” is all he hears next, and he jumps at the rough hand on his shoulder that spins him around. “We need groceries,” Steve slurs, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Ben’s eyebrows furrow, and he rubs his forehead. “Yeah, um, I’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Why can’t you go now?”

He sighs. “Steph’s sick. I can get some as soon as school’s over.”

“There’s nothing to eat here,” Steve says.

Jesus Christ. He acts like he doesn’t have a dollar to his name. Or a car. Or keys to said car. Ben normally has to walk to and from the store every time he needs to go. He does the next best thing he can think of and fishes out his wallet from his jeans. There’s only forty-eight bucks in there, but maybe it’ll make him shut up. “Here,” Ben says, handing it to him slowly, carefully. “Buy whatever you need.”

Ben then there’s a sudden twist of his arm, and he pulls away hastily. Shit. What the fuck? “Go get the groceries now,” he says. “And I’m not gonna ask again. Grab some beer while you’re at it.”

“I can’t buy beer, Dad. I’m fifteen.”

And almost got shot in the back of the head last time he tried for Steve.

“Take my fucking ID then,” he mumbles, shoving it into Ben’s grasp. “And don’t come back unless you have the beer.”

He shakes his head, his heart pumping quicker in his chest as he palms sweat. It’s 1:19 in the morning, and Steph’s sick, and he needs to get whatever medicine they have, even if it’s just Tylenol, in her system. She’s throwing up and hurting, and Ben can’t stand to be down her anymore. Steve smells like piss and lukewarm Vodka, and he keeps coming closer and closer to his personal bubble. And this clearly isn’t meant to be a good night; sometimes, they go weeks without seeing him, but he’s been here every night since they moved from Partridge to Pawnee.

“No. Listen, Dad. Steph’s not feeling so well. She’s throwing up and everything. I want to get her some meds.”

And then, somehow, Ben’s doubled over from a swift, violent, way too forceful kick to the stomach. He wraps his arms around his gut, but doesn’t fall to the ground. His body burns, singes beneath his core, but he’s viciously freezing. He tries to center his mind on something else, of his own father not standing over him like he’s some kind of misbehaved toddler or delinquent son.

He tries to breathe. Tries. Can’t. The walls close in, and Steve’s yanking him by his collar.

“Shoulda thought about your sick sister earlier,” he says before setting him back down. “And get some bread. I wanna make a grilled cheese.”

Ben nods rapidly. “Yes, sir.”

~

The outside air does nothing to cripple his nerves. By the time he’s two blocks away from home, he’s trembling, and his skin aches, and his throat hurts. There’s five ridiculously heavy shopping bags hooked on each arm, and the plastic somehow digs into his skin beneath his coat. He stops twice to quickly puke, his abdomen screaming in pain from the sudden movements, but then he keeps going. Keeps going because that’s what he’s supposed to do; it’s what he’s always supposed to do.

Steve’s passed out in the recliner, a bottle of beer tipped and spilled over on to his chest. Ben quickly cleans that up, knowing that he sleeps like the dead when he’s like this, so there’s no real way to wake him. He puts the food away as fast as possible before sprinting to the upstairs bathroom. Steph’s sick. Pull it together. He tells himself this, but his own thoughts are punctuated by that of someone else, someone even weaker than he feels right now.

He should stay here, wrapped around the toilet with his legs quivering and stomach searing. Tears swell up in his eyes as he coughs into the murky water. Choking. He’s choking. And there’s no way out of this life. God, why can’t he just shut up? Why can’t he block it out? He’s normally so good at this. Really, it’s the only thing he’s genuinely good at.

“Ben?”

Shit. Steph knocks a few times on the door before pressuring him with questions he doesn’t have the voice, the ability, the reason, the strength to answer. He flushes the toilet and finds a way to haul himself to sore feet. He splashes cold water on his face before cracking the door. “Yeah?” he asks a little too quietly, too nervously for his taste.

“Are you okay?”

No. Not this. He’s supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around. She’s sick, Goddammit, why didn’t he tend to her first?

He nods, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face, turning out the bathroom light and leading his sister to his bedroom. “I’m fine, Steph. Lay back down. I have your medicine.” He measures it out diligently, feeling her forehead one more time.

“You were gone for a really long time,” she whispers. “I got scared.”

“I promise that everything’s okay,” he says. “Steve was just being an asshole.”

“You’re shaking, Ben.”

He exhales raggedly; it’s been way too long of a night, and his stomach kills. “Steph, please stop.”

“But Ben, I –“

“Stephanie, leave it alone. Here, take this.”

And she sighs, slurping down the liquid and settling into the pillows. If she says anything else, if anyone says anything else, Ben seriously thinks he’ll either explode or burst into tears. Or both. Because this is how it always is, always will be, and he’s so so so tired of it. And Steph should never have to worry about him because he’s the older brother, and he’s the one who looks out for her, not the other way around. Trust him, he won’t be letting go of that responsibility any time soon, even when Steph’s an unruly, bratty teenager who thinks she knows everything.

He turns out the light, slumping down to the hardwood floor and drawing his knees to his chest. Ben shivers uncontrollably as he wills his pulse to stop doing that thing where it nearly beats out of control. Stop. Calm down. It’ll all be okay.

Except it never really is.

~

_October 18, 1991_

The next morning, he lowers his voice drastically to sound more like a middle-aged man and get Steph out of school for the day. She’s still running a fever and is even more lethargic than she was last night (or this morning or whatever it was). He’s this close to calling the high school as well, but she assures him that she’ll be fine, and he believes her. Because he has to get out of this house, even if it’s only for a few hours, and that makes him feel incredibly, unbelievably selfish.

He leaves Steph with more medicine and blankets and crackers and wheels in the TV from her bedroom that he found on the side of the street back in Partridge. It’s beat up and tiny, but it works and has a built in VCR, which both siblings have gotten a lot of use out of. He promises to be home as soon as school’s over, and she promises only to leave his room to use the bathroom and if she’s hungry and to always lock the door behind her.

Consequently, he misses the bus. He has a broken down bike that currently has just one lone tire, but his stomach has a massive dark purple bruise on it, so he would’ve opted to walk anyway. Or run. Because, by the time he arrives, there’s less than five minutes until first period starts, and he’s drenched it sweat, despite it being ridiculously cold out this morning.

“Ben!” he hears on the half-jog, half-sprint to his locker.

He jumps, fidgets before realizing that it’s just Leslie.

But, when he tries to smile even a little bit, he’s not sure how it comes across. “H-Hey,” he stammers, and good move, genius.

Not to mention that, well, his face is still busted up, and she’s being super nice about it, while other people avoid him like The Plague. Guess it’s some of kind of extremely strange thing to have a fifteen year old show up with a busted lip and black eye and bruises on both cheeks. But, really, he guesses not; he probably looks gross to outsiders.

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, gripping her books to her chest a bit tighter. “You’re flushed.”

He shrugs, closing his locker. “I’m fine. Everything’s great.”

“Are you sick? Because you should go home if you’re not feeling well.”

He shakes his head. “I’m okay. Everything is a-okay coolio beans.”

Leslie seems satisfied with the answer, and they keep walking down the halls. She has Spanish first period, while he’s stuck with some bullshit Art class. He’d much rather be in Pre-Calc all day everyday. “What’re you doing for Halloween?”

And, yeah, that question’s totally coming out of Leslie Knope’s mouth, and it’s directed at Ben Wyatt, who’s never gotten attention from a girl a day in his life besides from his sister, which is mostly just unwanted attention anyway. “Um, me and Steph usually watch movies...”

“Do you wanna come to Tom’s party? Everyone’s going to be there.”

But parties aren’t really his scene. Well, nothing is, to be honest.

“I-I don’t think I can,” he tells her. “Someone’s gotta watch my sister.”

“Isn’t your sister twelve? She’ll be fine for one night.”

And, yeah, they’ve only known each other for three days, and this is happening; he’s not sure whether he should be incredibly excited or deathly afraid. But he still doesn’t know how to respond to that because one night could change everything in the Wyatt household, and he’s supposed to be there for her through thick and thin.

Even if the immensely beautiful Leslie Knope is kind of asking him out on a date.

He shakes his head, and the warning bell rings overhead. “I wish I could. Thank you for the invite, though.”

Ben would sprint off to class, but there’s that whole stomach issue going on today, so he goes with the sulky walk instead.

~

“Okay, Wyatt,” Leslie says, cornering him right before fifth period. “You’re sick. You need to go home.”

He rubs his forehead. “Leslie, I promise you that I’m not sick. My stomach’s just a little off today.”

And by “off,” he means that he’s pretty sure there’s a broken rib in there somewhere.

“I bet you ten bucks you’re running a fever right now.”

Damn, what is with this woman? Why is she so competitive? She challenged him to a race in Bio yesterday to see who could slice up their earthworm faster.

He totally won, by the way.

“Well, then you would lose that bet, m’dear.”

Ben’s turning around to leave when Leslie grabs his elbow to get him to face her again, and he immediately flinches in pain, placing a tentative hand to his battered skin and inhaling sharply. Shit. Shit. He leans against the lockers and stares up at the ceiling as she starts to fuss over him. She’s about to lift up his shirt when that draws him back to the real world; he stops her.

“I’m so sorry, Ben! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He shakes his head. “I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “’m okay.”

But, somehow, the devil woman manages to spy something. “What the hell happened?”

And, this time, she’s not hiding it away like she did the day before.

The bell rings for fifth period to start, and Leslie pushes him into a more hidden location (a.k.a. a janitor's closet). “It’s nothing,” he tells her.

“That’s not ‘nothing’! You’re hurt. Again.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“None of my –?” She pauses. “Wait. Maybe you’re right. But you’re my friend, Ben, and this isn’t normal.”

“Leslie, stop. I promise it’s nothing.”

Christ. They need to pack up quick and move back to Partridge or to somewhere else. Anywhere else. Normally, Ben goes the entire length of time he’s at whatever school without making a single Goddamn friend, but Leslie Knope’s, well, Leslie Knope as he’s growing to figure out, and she’s relentless. A relentless, cute, stubborn lady who’s bound to get something out of him.

But then she coaxes up his long sleeved shirt a little more, and her touch is... wow, until she rubs her fingers over the swollen bump. “Are you having trouble breathing?”

He shrugs. “I’m late for gym.”

She scoffs. “Like you could run today anyway.”

“I could, and I can. We should go. We’re both really late as it is.”

“No, you’re going to the nurse.”

She’s on the move once again, and Ben grabs her arm gently. “Please don’t do this. I don’t need the nurse. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Ben. What’s wrong with you? This isn’t what ‘fine’ looks like! You can hardly stand, and your lips are even a little blue!”

At that, he exhales loudly, scratching his cheek. “I can’t go to the nurse.”

“Why not?”

Jesus Christ. Okay, abort. He can’t do this.

But Leslie softly grabs his hand and entwines their fingers together, and his heart skips a beat.

Stop. He just met her. She doesn’t need to know. Shouldn’t know in the first place.

“It’s complicated,” is all he says.

She nods and visibly bites her lower lip. “Is it your mom? Your dad? An uncle?” she questions. “Do they hit you?”

He shakes his head, tears quickly swelling up in his eyes, but he tries to shrug them away. Shrug them away because of her stupid comforting touch and quiet hushes that everything will be okay. Because she knows. Because she can see right through him. Because he’s idiotic enough to open his Goddamn huge mouth and get himself in a shit ton of trouble. This is a secret. It always has been, and it always will be, but how can that be true?

“Ben, shh... Whoa, it’s okay.”

He sinks to the floor in whatever janitor’s closet this is, and Leslie sits beside him, their fingers still tangled together in this mess.

“Y-You can’t tell a-anyone,” he says, stumbling through his words while a few tears drip down his cheeks.

And there’s her lip biting again. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

There’s skepticism lacing his every single thought, but their skin touches, and her head meets his shoulder, and she’s still holding his hand, and, for whatever reason, Ben believes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leslie finding out about Ben's abuse was supposed to happen quickly in the story because, trust me, this is only just the beginning. I hope that this chapter was okay because I'm honestly worried it was too quick, and that maybe Ben and Leslie are a little too comfortable with each other. I fear others may perceive it as that, but I personally think that, in any reality, they're simply soulmates and do what they have to for each other. 
> 
> Feel free to give me a follow on Tumblr: @supervanillabear31.


	3. Chapter Three

_October 22, 1991_

She would never know it by looking at Ben Wyatt.

He’s so sweet and kind to everyone he meets. On the very same day he briefly unleashed the unfortunate circumstances surrounding him and his family, he timed Chris Traeger’s mile in seventh period and read through and annotated the wonderful goldfish Ann Meredith Perkins’s essay on the French Revolution during eighth period. He lets Andy borrow pencils he knows full well, even on only his fifth day here, that he’ll never see again, and he offers to help Tom with his algebra homework.

Today, though, he’s barely uttered more than a few words in passing to her, even though they share half their classes together and walk side by side to each period anyway. He fell asleep very briefly in English, head held up by a noticeably quivering arm before Mr. Thomas gently clasped his shoulder and nearly caused him to leap and bolt out of the room. He had licked his lips and eyed her with that patented Ben-ish gleam of worry on his pale face she knew was still bruised.

But she nursed makeup over the cuts and as much of the black eye as she could last Friday and has been repeated the same routine before first period ever since. She can’t do much with the busted lip because, well, it’s a lip, and those suckers are hard enough for her to do on her own, let alone try to cover the dried blood and split in the skin. Since then, people are back to paying a bit more attention to this brand new, mysterious kid in Pawnee High.

And it’s weird. Really weird. Because Ben’s obviously crazily introverted, but kids struggling in subjects, particularly anything math or science related, come to him for help after several recommendations from his teachers. It’s only his fifth day, and he’s amazed many others besides just Leslie. But he’s so painfully shy that she often nudges him to speak up, and he almost never talks out loud in class, unless it’s in Pre-Calc with Mr. Ross, where he asks questions about advanced-trigonometry-blah-blah (she doesn’t even try to understand it at this point).

But, still, she would never know the pain he’s suffered just by looking at him. Because he begged her not to drag him to the nurse, which she was only seconds away from doing, even though he’s very clearly in pain. She’s pretty sure one of his ribs is broken, and the skin on his stomach is horrifyingly purple and green and black, but somewhat healing.

And, now, he’s sitting beside her at a overly large lab table in Biology, and he’s stopped taking notes. He always takes notes (always), even though Leslie knows he probably doesn’t even need to (because he’s Mr. Smarty Pants Professor Ben Wyatt with a staggering 4.38 GPA). There are dark smudges beneath his deeply bloodshot eyes, and he bounces his knee up and down.

“You okay?” she whispers.

“Hmm?” He snaps out of it. “What? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

The only thing really on her mind, however, is questions. How can he be so nice and well rounded and supremely intelligent with such a shitty home life? Her mom always told her kids like that end up in the system, but Ben’s still with his biological father and sister. Where’s his mom? Doesn’t she care about what’s happening to her son?

“Are you sure?” she asks a bit louder, a bit more pressingly this time.

“Mr. Wyatt and Ms. Knope, am I boring you?” Mr. Schatz asks from the front of the room.

Ben noticeably ducks his head, and Leslie frowns, answering with a quick, “No, sir.”

~

“Do you wanna come over today after school? We can study for that History test,” she finds herself asking before the words even have time to properly formulate in her head. She’s lucky they came out so coherent because it very well could’ve been, “Gee whiz, you look like a potato,” or something along those lines. Her pulse thumps in her ears as Ben rubs the back of his neck.

“Um, well, I have to –“

“Your sister can come too,” she says.

At that, his eyes widen, but he quickly grins. “Yeah, sure. That sounds great. But, uh, are you sure it’s okay for Steph to –“

“Absolutely!” she cuts him off. She’s only been friends with this guy for a few days, but it’s best not to let anything linger with him. He’s genuinely nervous by nature, and she wants him to know that she always means whatever she says, even if it is ridiculous or dorky or embarrassing. She has a funny feeling most people haven’t been positive straight shooters with him in his life.

There’s another crooked smile, and they head off to seventh period together.

~

He’s not the usual older brother, that’s for sure.

Leslie walks with Ben to pick up Steph, a twelve year old that’s nearly his height already with this immaculately straight brown hair (just a touch lighter than Ben’s) that makes her ooze with jealously. Because, damn, how in the world does she pull that off? She’s twelve! Is it natural? He introduces the two of them, and it’s much more obvious that Steph’s a lot less shy than he is.

But he doesn’t tease her, not even once (Leslie’s an only child, but she’s pretty sure that’s not normal). Doesn’t tell her to leave them alone. Doesn’t tell her not to recount shameful stories of their childhood. Instead, Ben laughs occasionally and plays along some of the time, but he’s mostly quiet while she and Steph squeal over Uncle Jesse in the newest episode of Full House.

They walk miles to her house, but the Wyatt siblings, Ben who’s pretty hurt in her book and Steph who’s recovering from a bout of the flu, ace this challenge like it’s no problem. Leslie shivers, and her bottom lip trembles as drops of rain soak her hair, but Ben quickly sheds his coat, wrapping it around her and popping the hood up over her head.

“Wait, no,” she says through the intense storm. “You need this.”

But Ben just shrugs with a sheepish grin and keeps strolling.

~

“I’m freezing!” Steph whines as they make their way up her entirely too long driveway. Why does everything have to be so far away? Why can’t she just be inside bundled up in blankets with a never ending supply of hot chocolate and approximately four full cans of whipped cream? The youngest member of their party is probably the driest of them all, wrapped up in a surprisingly warm looking raincoat with matching boots. She had to hide her wide smile when Ben made her throw on his grey and red flannel beneath the coat when they got her from school.

See what she means? He’s too perfect and nice and considerate.

And the makeup she diligently worked on this morning has rubbed off in the rain, and his face is marred with yellow bruises, and his black eye is now more of a sort of purple eye. And her mom is home; she thought she would’ve been at work for a few more hours, but nope. Marlene Griggs-Knope is here, and she’s probably going to kill Leslie violently. Or, more than likely, embarrass and harass her until she’s a pile of embarrassed harassment on her living room floor.

Ben’s hair is glued to his forehead, and his teeth chatter as he toes off his shoes. He’s completely and utterly drenched, his long sleeved shirt and jeans heavy looking and sagging on his small frame. He stands carefully on the rug by the front door in this foreign place, gulping with his arms crossed over his chest. Leslie takes Steph’s coat and hangs it up, and then...

“Leslie, I thought you had Stud –“ her mother says, entering the living room. “Oh, I didn’t know you had guests. Wait, you two aren’t Ann. Where’s Ann? And who are they?”

“Mom,” she says, eyeing her carefully. “This is Ben and Stephanie. Ben’s in a few of my classes, and we’re studying together for the history test on Friday.”

“And the little girl? Is she your slave? Leslie, are you bullying again? I thought we had this discussion alr –“

She hears both Wyatt siblings chuckle from behind her, and Leslie immediately sparks into annoyance. “No, Mother, I’m not bullying anyone. And Steph isn’t a slave; she’s Ben’s sister... And I was never a bully! I’m super chill all the time!”

“Uh huh. Sure, honey. Whatever you say. Ben, darling, you’re drenched. I’m gonna go find you some clothes.”

“No, um, Mrs. Knope, that’s, um,” he tries to get out, but her mom ignores him and scampers off.

Leslie turns around, her cheeks red. “Sorry about that. She’s a little weird.”

Steph giggles. “And you’re a bit of little bully; I can see it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles. “You guys can make yourself comfortable. Well, maybe not you yet, Ben. You’re really wet.” And, yeah, it sounds kind of sexual, and she’s okay with it. They’re both nearly adults here. But, wait, Steph’s a kid. Hmm. Oh well, though. And he’s just standing there awkwardly, trembling with his hands in his jean pockets until her mom returns.

With her father’s old clothes.

Leslie didn’t even know she still had anything of her father’s.

Tears swell in her eyes, but she pushes them away, deep down in her gut where the lingering resentment of the last six years dwells. Instead, she focuses on her mom pointing Ben in the direction of the bathroom and offering Steph something to eat or drink. Steph politely declines and sits on the couch while Leslie goes into the kitchen.

“He’s hurt,” her mother says matter of factly, rushing straight into a conversation through whispering.

She nods. “I know.” But she’s not sure what else to say.

“What happened to him?”

She shrugs. “I’m not really sure.”

“So you don’t really know this boy, do you? Or the girl?”

“He’s new in school, Mom; I’m trying to be nice.”

“Well, he better not knock you up.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen with his younger sister here.”

“Leslie, this isn’t a joking matter,” her mom points out.

“Neither is handing off some of Dad’s clothes like they don’t mean anything.”

“Did you want the kid to freeze to death?”

“He’s not a kid, Mom. Neither of us are. I didn’t even know you still had Dad’s clothes.”

Right at that moment, Ben rounds the corner from using the downstairs restroom. He apparently towel dried and combed his hair, parting it neatly to swoop some to the side; it’s almost hauntingly professional looking, much like how her father used to wear his. But she honestly can’t help but chuckle at the sight of this tiny guy wearing her six foot three, two hundred something pound dad’s plain maroon long sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants.

His own clothes are wadded up in a tight ball, which her mother takes from his grasp. “I’ll go dry these, sweetie.”

Yeah, she’s trying to be nice and all, but that’s not how her mother is. She’s arrogant and oddly racist and makes people miserable sometimes. Leslie loves her and all, but sometimes she can’t wait to go off to college to get away from the constant judgment. Still, though, at least she’s being more civilized with the Wyatt’s than she originally was with sunflower Ann.

“Thank you, Mrs. Knope,” Ben says quietly, sincerely.

“Call me Marlene, dear.”

~

“Your mom seems pretty cool,” Ben says, shuffling up the comfortable silence that’s settled upon the room. Steph fell asleep on Leslie’s bed about twenty minutes ago. She had gone out of her way to ask if it was okay to sit there in the first place, and Leslie waved her hand, proclaiming she doesn't care because she really doesn't. Steph’s homework was being crumpled under her head, and Ben quickly removed her binder, book, and pencil so she could rest properly; Leslie doesn’t exactly know why she felt so light when he did that, but she did.

She shrugs. “She’s alright,” she says. “She means well. What about your mom?”

Ben bites his lower lip, and, oh God, is that something she shouldn’t have mentioned? She’s such an idiot. “She died when I was six,” he tells her.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to –“

He shakes his head. “No no no. It’s fine. It was, um, a really long time ago.”

“My dad died when I was ten, so I totally know where you’re coming from.”

He gulps. “I’m really sorry to hear that.” And he totally reaches over to briefly, sincerely, gently touch her arm with his hand. “Was he, y’know, around a lot?”

“Absolutely. He was the best. He went to all of my ballet recitals and softball games and debates.”

“You had debates at ten?”

She nods. “I was placed on an advanced debate team was I was eight. Mom said it was because I never shut up and always tried to prove people wrong, but my dad was there at every practice and every competition. He really supported me.”

“He sounds like a great guy,” Ben says. “I’m sorry for wearing his clothes. I didn’t... I didn’t –“

“Hey, don’t worry about that. I didn’t know my mom even still had any of them, but it’s okay. I’m glad they’re coming in handy now.”

~

They crack open their textbooks for the first time right as her mother orders pizza for dinner. Ben insists that he and Steph will head home and that she doesn’t have to worry about feeding them, but Marlene Griggs-Knope isn’t playing around tonight, as Leslie discovers. Ben then offers to pay her back, shoveling out a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, grinning sheepishly while his hand shakes violently, to which her mom tells him to shove it back up his ass, settle down, and continue studying with her daughter.

Ben throws on his actual clothes, and they sprawl out on her bedroom floor. Leslie worries desperately about his ribs, but he insists he’s fine and lies on his side. She borrows his notes while he glances over hers, each borrowing scraps of information from the other. His handwriting is tiny, but precise and meticulous and very grammatically correct, and it’s adorable, honestly. It fits well with the bits and pieces of personality she’s seen so far.

After a while of staring at his notes, though, her eyes start to hurt from squinting and holding the notebook so close to her face. “Geez, Wyatt. You should really write bigger.”

“Maybe you just need glasses,” he retorts, not even looking at her, but she totally sees that crooked smile.

“Fat chance. Maybe you just need –“

“Gross,” she hears Steph say from above them on her bed. “Quit flirting.”

Ben chuckles. “You quit flirting.”

“Yeah, great comeback.”

He rolls his eyes. “Steph, math homework. It’s not gonna do itself.”

“I don’t understand any of this junk.”

He pushes himself off the carpet, pressing a hand to his abdomen as he gestures to Leslie to see if he can sit. Again, she waves her hand, but she doesn’t stop watching as Ben places Steph’s book in his lap, and she tells him what problems she’s stuck on.

God, could he be anymore perfect?

~

“Quit giving me all your pepperonis!” Leslie squeals as Ben picks off yet another piece of meat from his slice, placing it on her plate.

“You’re the one who said you love them,” he says.

And she thinks she might really love this guy too (no, not “love love;" God, she just met him).

~

“Wow, she must be really tired.” She motions to Steph asleep on her bed, once again, bundled beneath Ben’s coat.

He nods. “I think she’s still getting over whatever bug she had.”

It’s past nine at night, and she guesses that might (maybe) be a little late for a twelve year old, especially one who spent the weekend not feeling so well. While they’ve been studying and talking, Ben’s always made sure to include Steph in the conversation when she wanted to be included, and all three of them had stopped talking altogether to watch the familiar ending of Batman.

“Okay,” her mom says, abruptly entering the room. “I think it’s time for you guys to head home. Do you want to use the phone to call your parents?”

Ben quickly shakes his head. “No, that’s fine. We’ll just walk.”

“Do your parents not have a car?” her mom asks, clearly confused.

“My dad works really late.”

Leslie stares at the floor during this conversation because she can’t believe this. He goes out of his way to help his sister and make sure she knows he’s there for her and doesn’t utter a word about the fact that his dad hits him. His own father hits him, hurts him, makes him feel terrible for just being on this planet. And that’s the truth. Leslie wants to scream it from the rooftops because Ben and Steph both deserve so much better, but she bites her tongue and lets it get brushed under the rug. She wonders if she’s as bad as everyone else who’s failed them.

“I’ll drive you two home,” she offers.

“No, ma’am. We’ll be okay. Thank you very much for the offer and for letting us study here and for the, um, uh –“

“Quit stuttering, Ben. Grab your coat, and make sure Stephanie stays warm.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her mom eyes him carefully. “Marlene,” she repeats slowly.

Ben nods hastily. “Yes, Marlene.”

~

_October 24, 1991_

“You were what?!” Leslie shouts.

“I know. I know,” Ben says during passing period before Biology. “It’s so stupid.”

Stupid? Stupid? But he’s so smart and cute and Ben-like. And is this real?

But her anger and disappointment and infuriation swells over in a broken tidal wave, and she finds herself nearly sinking to her knees. First, he tells her that his GPA is higher than hers. Then, he gets a one hundred two percent on the pre-calc test (stupid extra credit), while Leslie only manages a measly eighty-eight, only the third highest score in the class. Now, he’s standing beside her saying that Mr. Ross wants to nominate him to run Student Council. As in President. As in Leslie’s title.

As in her life is over.

“I’m totally not going to do it, just so you know. So please don’t freak out.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I know how important Student Council is to you.”

But she’s supposed to be his friend, and it poses a definite conflict of interest. She’s been telling him to break out of shell, even if it’s only a little by little because the world needs more of Ben Wyatt in it. But maybe he’s breaking out too much? Except he’s still really quiet and barely talks to anyone besides her and when spoken to by others, but come on. She should be happy, thrilled to the point of explosion, but instead all she feels is her heart racing.

“Are you sure?” she finds herself asking him.

“Am I sure of what?”

She sighs. “That you won’t run for Student Council President?”

He stops her in the middle of the hallway, ushering her off to the side to lean on some lockers. “Of course not, Les. Why would I ever do that to you?”

“Because you deserve it, Ben.”

He shrugs, shaking his head. “No I don’t. I’ve only been here a week.”

“But you’re amazing.”

And oops.

Majorly big oops.

Did she really just say that out loud?

He chuckles. “Well, you’re even more amazing, so that’s why it’s all yours. Being the President of anything isn’t my scene anyway.”

Leslie sighs exasperatedly, placing the side of her head on a red locker. Her heart feels awful and guilty and quivery and gross because she’s worrying about something as stupid, as trivial as Student Council when Ben shows up each and everyday with some kind of new bruise. Today’s is on his chin, directly to the left of that jagged scar, but he swears that wasn’t because of his dad. Maybe he’s losing trust in her? Maybe it really was an accident?

She doesn’t know anymore.

But she does know that she hates this feeling brewing in her gut.

“I’m such an ass,” she breathes out.

Ben shakes his head, placing his hand on her arm. “Les, I don’t want it. I swear. You didn’t do anything wrong, so please don’t worry.”

She finds herself nodding, but she’s not sure what to believe.


	4. Chapter Four

_November 11, 1991_

Leslie finds out Ben’s birthday is on Friday by mistake.

They’re in homeroom and have to do this stupid teambuilding activity, which she usually loves to the hell out of. Today, though, she’s bloated and cranky and has barely even managed to continue color-coding a map of South America for History class, too busy staring at the clock until second period starts, and she can get this stupid geographical exploration thingy over with.

Of course, Mrs. Jameson is all about exercises that strengthen the bond between classmates, so they’re forced to participate. The task is stupid and simple: Arrange the kids in the room in birth order. Leslie, despite her desire to kick-punch-jab almost everyone today for purely biological, explainable reasons, quickly takes charge. The sooner she can sit down and ignore everyone and everything, the better. She makes people born in January stand at one end of the room and follows in that order until she reaches December. She spies Ben from her first month position near the end of the line and figures his birthday’s probably already passed; they had a ridiculous amount of people born in September and not a lot of anything else.

But Mrs. Jameson wants to make a birthday chart, even though it’s junior year and not pre-school, and school started over two months ago. The kids with birthdays before today are getting cake and cookies some time during the week, and, God, all Leslie wants to do is relax and not go through this. She starts writing down dates like February second and April fifth and July twenty-second and October ninth before Leslie hears an all too familiar voice mumble, “November fifteenth.”

And it’s definitely Ben’s voice; she knows it anywhere.

Instantly, her heart explodes, and she grins brightly, and she seriously has to start planning now. How could he not tell her his birthday’s in four days? That’s, like, a mega friend code violation right there. How could he not even mention it? Not even once? Ooh, a Batman cake! Or Star Wars! Wait, he’s probably too old for both of those things. He’s going to be seventeen after all.

Mrs. Jameson lets them go back to their desks, and Ben starts to read his Spanish textbook like the greatest news in the history of the universe wasn’t just unleashed. “Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was coming up?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t bother to look up from the words he’s studying. “It’s not a big deal.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Not a big deal? Ben, seventeen is the hugest of deals!”

Ben shakes his head. “Sixteen.”

“What?”

“Sixteen. You said seventeen, but I’m turning sixteen.”

Okay, she knows she’s not that great at math, but come on. He has to be playing her.

“Aren’t you a junior?” she asks carefully because, yeah, he’s definitely taking courses that suggest it (and plenty of senior ones too).

He nods, and he’s clearly not thinking anything of it.

“But you’re only fifteen right now? That doesn’t make any sense.”

He shrugs once again, gesturing with his hands. “I skipped first grade.”

Is he kidding? How can someone just skip first grade? Isn’t that, like, a development learning milestone age?

“Wow, you really are a genius, aren’t you?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “My kindergarten teacher said I didn’t need it, and my mom agreed, so here I am.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Here you are,” she mumbles.

~

The news about Ben’s upcoming sixteenth birthday ignites a fire under her butt.

She gets through the day by jotting down all sorts of ideas and themes in her magical part planning extravaganza binder. The second the final bell rings, she heads off to the middle school, knowing she only has a few minutes to spare before Ben arrives; she’s so glad it’s her day to have the car. Oh! Car! Ben can finally get his driver’s license this year.

God, what the hell, he’s such a baby. How is he only fifteen?!

He acts so much older than that. Most of the guys in her grade are sixteen, and they’re all pretty dense.

“Steph!” she shouts, waving probably a bit too frantically.

The youngest Wyatt’s forehead crinkles, and, wow, she really looks like Ben. “Leslie? What’re you doing here?”

“Your brother’s birthday is Friday,” she states.

She nods, still confused. “Um, yeah. Did he tell you that?”

“No, I learned it during class today. Anyway, what kinda things would he like for a party? I was thinking something to do with Batman or Star Wars, so does that sound stupid?”

“What?” Steph asks. “No, Ben doesn’t do birthdays.”

“Say what now?”

“He just doesn’t. Never has. Well, not since I can remember at least.”

“For real? No cake or presents or anything?”

Steph shakes her head. “He only really does that stuff on my birthday.”

What the hell?

But she spies a familiar guy in a black coat coming, so she speeds off.

“Okay then,” she hears Steph mumble. “Good talk.”

~

“Leslie, why are you still working on this?” Ann asks later on that night. They’re holed up in her bedroom, creating lists for Ben’s birthday surprise. “His sister told you he doesn’t like to celebrate.”

“That’s crazy talk!” she exclaims. “It’s his sixteenth birthday!”

“Annnnnd?”

She rolls her eyes, setting down her pink glitter pen. “I want to do something special for him.”

“Ohhh. I get it now. Why don’t you just tell him you like him instead?”

“Or how about I don’t do that and throw him the best birthday party in the galaxy instead?”

“There’s no reasoning with you on this, is there?” her best friend inquires.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Probably not. Now, what color streamers should we get?”

~

_November 12, 1991_

He’s burrowed beneath his comforter, staring at the peeling wall. It’s 2:12 in the morning, and his eyes ache, and his body hurts, and he wants so desperately to fall asleep so the pit of nothingness will just go the fuck away for a while. He wants to drift off to a place where it doesn’t matter and everything isn’t weighing him down like a ton of bricks.

Ben’s tried reading and watching TV and counting sheep and even drinking warm milk, which was absolutely revolting; how is that even a thing? He tries to write down his feelings, but he can’t come up with anything specific because everything is blurry and blah and makes him a little sick to his stomach if he thinks too hard.

Steph went to bed hours ago, and he can’t stop shivering to save his life, and Steve’s downstairs stumbling around and acting like an idiot. He’s heard the smashing of glass and the crashing of fists against plaster and the screaming other primal dicks in the their living room. He makes an attempt to cancel out the irritating annoyance with headphones and his Walkman, but then he remembers that his sister’s borrowing it, and suddenly goes entirely numb.

He lets himself lie there. Just lie there.

That is, until there’s banging at his door.

No. No. He can’t do it tonight. Steph’s twelve. She can sleep in her own bed.

Except he figures out quickly that it’s clearly not Steph because she never knocks this loudly.

He scratches his head and drags himself out of bed, the brisk chill of the house slamming immediately into his bones, absorbing into his skin, and he wishes he were asleep. That yeasty stench of cheap beer fills his nostrils, and Steve’s standing there shirtless with a bottle tightly in grasp. Ben wonders if he would combust if he didn’t have alcohol in his hands.

“Benny,” his father slurs. “Was wonderin’ if ya could –“ he pauses to burp, and it’s a gross one at that, “Help yer old man out.”

His pulse pounds in his ears, and his stomach drops to his toes, but he finds himself coaxing his father back down the stairs, carrying his weight with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other mindfully holding his own stomach. It doesn’t exactly help that his dad’s over six feet tall and could crush Ben like the tiny bug he is, but he ignores that.

Because, for once in the longest while, his dad isn’t wailing on him. Isn’t asking for money or beer. Isn’t forcing his hands on him.

He’s intoxicated as fuck, but when isn’t he? And, somehow, it’s much different, and Ben assists him to his bedroom without a single word. He gets Steve into bed, taking off his boots and placing them gently on the hardwood floor to where he won’t trip over them when he makes his graceful reappearance. Ben pulls the stale, musty, and sweaty scented blanket over him. He even puts a not too full glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on the bedside table.

And Ben heads back upstairs and drops on to his own mattress face first, waiting for a sleep that probably won’t come because his mind just sucks that way.

~

He’s slowly buttering the toast and struggling not to collapse into an oozing pile of sleepiness, eyes fluttering and body jolting, when Steph descends the stairs. She plops into her usual seat at the kitchen table, and Ben scratches his head as he hands her a cup of orange juice. Really, it’s Sunny D because it’s cheaper, and she seems to like the taste more, so it’s a win-win, even if it’s basically sugar poured on top of more sugar. Hey, at least she’ll get a bit of energy from it.

Maybe he should drink some.

The moment his stomach twists and flops at the idea is the moment he stops thinking about it.

“Did you get any sleep?” Steph asks.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer. Not like he needs to anyway. She’s a smart kid.

“What about food? You didn’t eat dinner last night.”

“This is the last of the bread,” he tells her, placing the plate in front of her.

She pushes it away. “I’m not eating til you do.”

He rubs his forehead, and food is way too disgusting right now. “Steph, please don’t do this.”

“If I don’t, who will? Maybe I can annoy you enough to knock some sense into you.”

He lets out a ragged sigh. “I can’t do this today. Eat or don’t eat. It’s up to you.”

Steph rolls her eyes and is stubborn enough to let this hold out for a few more minutes as Ben prepares her lunch (he lied; there’s still bread). He glances up to find her munching on the toast and taking a bite out of her apple before sipping the juice. He wants to smile, but his mind is searching for basic human emotions, and, good lord, why is it so hot in here?

“Got anymore of that for me?” he hears from behind him, and he jumps.

Jesus Christ. He’s never up this early.

Steve’s standing there barefoot and in the same rumpled state he was earlier. He reeks of regret and despair and overall dirtiness. Ben gulps and nods, and his father sits down at the other end. He carefully eyes Steph, who completely tenses up and is incredibly, noticeably cautious about not making any noise at all. Ben puts more bread in the toaster, almost expecting at least Steph’s “you lied to me” look, but his sister is stone and only makes eye contact with the table.

His heart goes haywire as he shakily pours coffee and gives Steve the breakfast.

“Got any jelly?” he inquires gruffly.

Ben nods. “I’ll get it.” And he’s pretty sure something in him shatters when he checks through the entire fridge and finds no jelly. “Um, actually, sir, we’re all out. I’ll stop by the store today after school and grab some. Grape, right?”

“There’s no jelly?” he asks.

He stands by Steve’s side to show that he’s listening and giving his undivided attention to him without getting too close. He’s been reprimanded way more than just once for disobedience and lack of eye contact and not being aware of the situation in front of him. “No, sir.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Oh boy.

His head’s killing him, and he can’t fight right now. Doesn’t have the energy or strength to.

“I’ll run to the gas station and see if they have any,” Ben offers.

“Ben,” Steph says, speaking up from beside him. “The bus’ll be here in a couple minutes.”

He shrugs. “I’ll sprint.” He’s about ready to toe on his Chuck Taylors when Steph starts to talk again.

“No, Ben. You won’t. That’s ridiculous. He can eat toast without jelly.”

Oh God.

Ben’s jaw almost drops to the floor, and why is this whole pre-teen rebellion thing happening on a day where he feels like he’s barely functioning, barely holding himself together, but, at the same time, feeling almost nothing at all; his mind is super strange that way. But seriously.

“What did you say?” Steve asks harshly, standing straight back up and taking to large strides toward Steph; Ben immediately steps in the middle.

“Nothing, Dad. She didn’t say anything. Let me go get you the jelly. Come on, Steph,” he says, taking her wrist to pull her out of the house. Screw school, and screw the jelly. They just need to get out of here to diffuse the situation. And his sister most definitely cannot stay here without him if this is how it’s going to be. The only time they even go around the house is when Steve’s asleep or isn’t home; Ben had no idea he’d be awake so fucking early today.

“Oh no, Benny,” Steve says, gripping on to Ben’s shoulder roughly, pushing him out of the way. “She definitely said something. Don’t try to defend her.”

“It’s just jelly,” Steph points out.

And Jesus. Does she really think that’s helping?

But it doesn’t matter, though. Steve charges (yes, charges) at this twelve year old kid who stated something very obvious and very true, but it still doesn’t matter. And Ben quickly pushes his sister out of the way and into the living room, all while shoving at Steve to get him stop. Just stop. But even his most valiant efforts don’t matter, and he’s knocked to the floor.

“Go, Steph!” he shouts, and everything’s blurry and hazy as he tries to get to his feet, off kilter from his head smacking the hardwood floor. He hears Steph frantically exit the house, but Steve doesn’t go after her. No. He’s got who he wants now and places his boot on Ben’s chest to prove it.

Not that Ben would ever let Steve lay a hand on her anyway.

He never has and never will.

~

“Where were y –“ But then she stops because something is very clearly not right with him. He’s limping badly. Really badly. And holding his side. “Whoa. Are you alright?” She had no idea where he was and didn’t know any phone numbers, and her first thought was that something like this was happening in the Wyatt household. She guesses she’s correct in assuming that because, while his face is free of bruises and abrasions for once, he looks like he’s going to puke.

But Ben doesn’t answer and pushes past her, heading straight for his locker.

Leslie watches him shove books into his backpack, all of them, as if he has zero intention of actually staying. “Ben,” she says, placing her hand on his arm.

He instantly flinches and recoils. “Leave me alone, Leslie,” but there’s no inflection in his voice.

“Was it your –“

He closes his locker and starts to walk back toward the entrance of the school. “No. You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Ben, please. You’re hurt. Sit down, and I’ll go get help.”

“I don’t need help,” he says. "I don’t want help.”

“Well, you need it. You can’t just let this keep happening to y –“

“It’s not your life, Leslie! This, all of this, is out of your control. Stop trying to fix it. I’m not broken, and I don’t need to be fixed!”

“I’m not trying to fix –“

“Yes, you are! You’ve been doing it since I got here. You keep telling me that I should do something about it. Well, newsflash. I’ve been living this same fucking Goddamn life for almost sixteen years, and I’m still here. Stop treating me like I’m some kind of project for you.”

Tears swell in her eyes, and she shakes her head, her whole body trembling. “Ben, I’m not trying to fix you. There’s nothing wrong with you. All I’m saying is that you should get help. He’s... He’s going to kill you, don’t you see that? If you let this continue, he will kill you.”

It’s way too open of a conversation, and the bell’s already rang, and teachers are starting to hand out tardy slips.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he tells her, staring her straight in the eye before darting out of the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think of their fight at the end? Let me know! And feel free to follow me on Tumblr: @supervanillabear31.


	5. Chapter Five

_November 12, 1991_

Tears swell in her eyes, and she shakes her head, her whole body trembling. “Ben, I’m not trying to fix you. There’s nothing wrong with you. All I’m suggesting is that you get help. He’s... He’s going to kill you; don’t you see that? If you let this continue, he will kill you.”

It’s way too open of a conversation, and the bell’s already rang, and teachers are starting to hand out tardy slips.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he tells her, staring her straight in the eye before darting out of the school.

And she follows.

Holy crap on a cracker.

She follows him out of the building, and two teachers scream at them to come back, but they don’t bother chasing them down. She has absolutely no idea where Ben’s going, but it doesn’t matter. Not really, at least. Because her heart’s beating wickedly, relentlessly in her chest, and she, Leslie Knope, just technically ditched school for a guy she barely knows. A guy who’s drenched with sweat in the middle of November and limping entirely too heavily.

“Ben, stop,” she pleads. She hasn’t spoken a single word in over ten minutes while she follows him blindly. Well, not exactly blindly because she’s lived in Pawnee her whole life, has multiple maps of the town, and can recite street names and stores and such in her sleep. They’re walking on the side of the street, Ben steps in front of her, but he’s rapidly losing speed. It isn’t until she sees the all too familiar entrance of Ramsett Park that she smiles just a little bit.

Because, yeah, her friend is having a crisis, but he came here. To a park.

To hide, nonetheless, but still.

He halts once they reach the lake, and he gingerly sits down on a bench that’s covered in graffiti.

“Can I sit with you?” she asks quietly.

Ben shrugs, but his face softens before hardening once more. There are nearly black smudges beneath his eyes, and he seems so tired. She’s never seen anyone this weary before, and she wants to know what’s going on badly enough that she’s quivering right along with him. She bites her lower lip as they stare off into the foggy fall morning together.

Neither of them speaks for what seems like an eternity. She swears her lungs stop behaving like actual lungs and are beginning to disown the idea of breathing. She watches Ben’s heel bounce up and down on the wet pavement as he crosses his arms over his chest, affectively doing his best to shield himself from her and the rest of the world.

And she wonders if this is a mistake. She doesn’t know him all that well, even if she really wants to. Because he’s funny, kind, smart, handsome, and drops everything to help her and anyone else who may need it. But he’s closed off and reserved, and there’s something extremely bad happening to him that he almost blatantly refuses to acknowledge. No one steps on Leslie’s toes, and she has zero clue as to why he continues to let this happen.

How does he deal with his dad, his own flesh and blood, beating up on him?

No one should ever lay his or her hands on anyone.

Well, unless it’s hugging or something like that; that’s totally cool.

The brisk autumn air seeps into her soul and should make her feel light, free, happy. Should make her feel excited to be sitting next to this awesome person, but her soul hurts. It just hurts. There’s space between them, and she urgently wants to close it, to cut off the separation right here and right now. Ben needs to know that she’s here for him, that there’s someone out there that cares for him and needs him to address what’s wrong instead of blocking it out.

But then she spies a redness starting to seep through his worn out jeans; it’s not much, but it’s definitely there, and, now, there’s no hiding. “Do you think I could take a look at your leg?” But then she stops to reconsider. “Um, I didn’t mean that like I wanted to fix it or anything. I’m just...”

“What? You want to see the damage?”

She shakes her head. “That’s not it, Ben. I’m just... concerned.”

“I don’t need your concern. Or your pity.”

“I’m not trying to pity you. I’m trying to help you and be a good friend. You can’t sit here on a park bench in the middle of the morning with blood coming through your pants and expect me not to worry.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Well, no one else ever has.”

“I’m not ‘no one.’ I like you, and I’m worried. That’s it.”

Leslie swears she almost sees a tiny smile, but Ben leans down to roll up the baggy leg of his jeans. Her jaw almost drops to the ground, and her stomach immediately starts churning. Because his knee is swollen red and purple and turning a little dark blue, and there’s a long, jagged cut across his shin. How the hell did he walk on this?

“It’s not that bad,” he says instantly.

Of course it’s not.

She sort of wants to hit him in the shoulder for saying something so stupid, but she’s really not sure if he’s hurt anywhere else and doesn’t want to risk it. “Let’s go to my house,” she says. “I know you don’t want to go to a doctor, and that’s fine, but you at least need bandages and ice. And we’re definitely going to elevate that leg.”

“You don’t have to do this, Leslie.”

“I want to, Ben. Honestly.” She stands up, gingerly fixing his pants as he hisses before offering him her hand. “Do you think you can walk?”

He grabs it with his clammy one, huffing and grunting, but still putting weight on the injured appendage. “I think so.”

“We’ll take the bus. It’s not my day to have the car anyway.”

She holds his hand the entire time.

~

By the time they arrive at her house, Ben’s eyes are glassy and fogged with tears as she settles him on the couch. It’s barely eleven, so she has quite a few hours before her mom’s home to complain about everything being out of place. She gathers supplies and tentatively cleans the gash on his shin, wrapping it in gauze. His knee’s really really bruised and puffy, so she opts for ice and two pillows to rest beneath it; she’ll try to splint it a bit better later.

For now, though, she sits at the opposite end of the sofa and turns on the TV.

~

“Hey,” she whispers, gently shaking his arm. “You really should take these.”

Ben jolts back into consciousness, and he’s trembling all over, sweat dripping from his hairline. He scrubs a hand down the side of his face, rubbing at his eyes and sighing, but he makes no attempts to move. “What is it?” he questions exhaustingly.

“Tylenol. I figured your leg’s probably hurting. And I think you’re running a fever.”

He shakes his head. “Leg’s fine. ‘m fine.” And then he tries to re-smush his face into the couch cushion, crossing his arms and resuming the same position he’s been in for almost two hours now. She had briefly fallen asleep too, their socked feet touching as Ben snored quietly. However, it wasn’t long after she woke up that he started to whimper.

“I promise you can go back to sleep in a second. Please take them.”

He pushes himself up on his elbow and takes the pills, swallowing them down with a Dixie Cup of water.

And, yeah, Leslie totally soothes his hair back from his forehead before his eyes close again.

~

“’m sorry,” Ben whispers. “I didn’t mean to be such an asshole earlier.”

She shakes her head, rubbing her thumb over his hand. They’re sitting at her kitchen table with his leg still propped up with pillows on one of the chairs, and she’s forcing him to re-hydrate and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, even though he only picks at it. “I’m sorry I keep trying to make it seem like I want to fix you. I know you’re not broken. It’s just hard because I know he’s physically hurting you, and you don’t deserve it.”

“I was being a dick. You didn’t deserve that. And... I figure this can’t be easy for you either.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never told anyone about... my dad before. I can’t imagine what this seems like to you. I just... I want you to understand that if I could make it better or make it go away, I would. Me and Steph have both been through seven foster homes a piece, and it was actually way worse than living with Steve. We don’t want to lose the stability.”

“Do you feel stable?” she questions. “Like actually stable?”

At that, he glances toward his lap. “No. Well, every now and then. But it’s not worth what we could lose if I told. Trust me, Steph’s tried so many times, but it makes it harder. I don’t want to be placed with a different family or move around a lot; I want to stay with my sister. Things will be a lot easier once I turn eighteen.”

“What happens at eighteen?”

“I can become Steph’s legal guardian. It’s not like Steve would care anyway. He’d sign away his rights in a heartbeat if I told him there’s money involved.”

Leslie’s eyebrows furrow. “What about college?”

“I’ll probably wait til Steph graduates high school.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asks incredulously. “You have a 4.38 GPA!”

“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?” he asks with a small smile.

“Can it, Wyatt. The point is that, if you wait three entire years to enroll, the value of that GPA and your test scores goes down. Way down.”

He nods. “I know that. But what else am I supposed to do? Leave Steph alone at that house with Steve while I go to classes? Take her with me? Uproot her again and again until there’s nothing left? It’d be easier if I just got my own place and a job and then worried about my education.”

“What about you, Ben? What about what’s right for you?”

He shakes his head before glancing away. “It’s not about me, Leslie. It’s never been about me.”

~

“You skipped school today, Leslie!” her mother shouts. And is she seriously doing that finger wagging thing? She’s sixteen, not two. She’s almost an adult who’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and she just so happened to decide that taking time to talk to her struggling friend was more important than learning what she’s already read in the textbooks.

She sighs. “It’s not like I missed anything! I’m three chapters ahead in every class!”

“I don’t care how many chapters ahead you are! You’ve never done anything like this before!”

“I was taking care of Ben,” she says. “He had... a really really bad morning.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t need taken care of that badly.”

Leslie almost scoffs in her mother’s face because he most definitely did need her attention.

“I’m sorry, okay? I am. But... If you were there, if you saw what I saw, you would’ve helped him too.”

Her mother lets out a ragged exhale, and Leslie can understand her points. Kind of. Because she did walk out of school, and she knew she would get in trouble for it. And she went to pick up Steph from the middle school in her car without asking. And both Wyatt siblings are still here. So, yeah, she can rationalize her frustrations, but she’s not sorry for helping her friends.

“They’re not okay, are they? Do they need help?” her mom questions, gesturing out toward the living room. Luckily, they can’t hear this since they’re in her mother’s bedroom.

She shakes her head. “No. They’re fine.”

“Leslie, I will not let either of them influence you in a negative way. I hope you know that. I’ve never had any issues at all with you, and you’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, so I’ll let this one slide. I get it, alright? I’m gonna go ahead and assume they don’t have a the best home life, but that doesn’t excuse you from going to school. Promise me this won’t ever happen again.”

She rounds the table to embrace her mother because, yes, sometimes she’s annoying, but she’s always been levelheaded and respectable and supportive. And she’s sweet enough to understand that Ben and Steph aren’t very typical kids and is okay with it. “I swear on my life I’ll be at school everyday and not borrow the car without your permission. Unless there’s some kind of ice cream related emergency, and then I’ll have to budge a bit.”

Her mom chuckles and kisses her cheek. “Have you guys eaten yet?”

~

“Ben, darling, are you feeling alright?” her mother asks.

They’re at the kitchen table, and Leslie’s so used to having dinner with just her mom that this is super strange. Steph had instantly dug into her fettuccine alfredo, proclaiming it to be the best meal she’s ever eaten, while Ben hasn’t taken more than three bites. Instead, he swirls his fork in the pasta and stares at the plate with his eyes only a tad more than half open.

But, at the sound of her mom’s voice, he sits up a bit straighter. “Yes, ma’am... I mean Marlene.”

Leslie pretty positive he’s not really feeling okay; sure, they had a nice, long talk earlier, but it’s past eight at night, and he’s been resting a majority of the day and still hasn’t regained any energy. Steph told her he hasn’t slept or eaten much in weeks and hasn’t had this much of a chance to relax since he’s usually always on the go with something to do.

“Are you sure? You’re looking a little peaky.”

He nods. “I’m okay.”

“If you say so,” her mom says, standing up. “Okay, now who wants dessert?”

~

It’s ten PM, and usually Leslie’s upstairs doing a mountain of homework. Tonight, though, she’s lying on her living room floor and watching TV with Steph, and it almost makes her feel like she has a sister. Her face lightens a little each time the brunette beside her laughs as if it’s the funniest joke she’s ever heard, and it’s cool. Kind of weird, but cool.

She has no idea when the Wyatt siblings are going home, but she doesn’t actually care either. Ben’s been snoozing since dinner ended, having hobbled back to the couch and laid down without another word. Steph informs her that he’s always awake when they’re at home because he’s worried about what Steve could do, but she doesn’t know why he hasn’t been eating. Sometimes, he skips meals for days, and that’s absolutely not okay.

But it’s a struggle because, while Leslie would’ve force fed him had she known, she doesn’t want her mom to know these things about him. It’s his personal business, and Steph probably wouldn’t have told her if it weren’t obvious that both Leslie and her mom care.

“Wow, he’s really out,” her mother says as she enters the room. She carefully, lightly places her hand on his forehead and frowns when she pulls away. Leslie thought he would’ve woken up or something, but he stays perfectly still and continues snoring. “Has he been like this all day?”

Leslie nods. “Pretty much. I’ve given him two doses of Tylenol, but I don’t think it’s helped.”

“Stephanie, do you two want to spend the night? Of course I could drive you home, but it’s pretty late.”

“Oh, um.” She bites her bottom lip and looks right at her brother. “Maybe you should ask Ben.”

Sometimes, Leslie can forget how amazing her mother is, but that’s all she’s noticing right now. Because here are these two kids in her living room, and one of them is a boy, like an actual boy, and she’s offering for them to stay over like it isn’t a problem in the slightest. Suddenly, the telephone rings shrilly and causes everyone to jump. “Les, wake Ben and ask him. I don’t want to make the wrong assumption.”

She nods and scoots across the floor until she reaches the couch, getting to her knees before gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes pop open, and he moans and lets them slip closed. “Do you guys want to stay here tonight? It’s past ten, and my mom’s wondering.”

“What?” he mumbles, scratching his head. “No. We’ll... We’ll go.” He sits up and goes to swing his legs over the side of the couch, but hisses loudly at the movement. He succeeds the next time, but, the second he tries to stand and put any weight on his right leg, he hiccups and threatens to crash to the floor. Steph jumps to her feet, and she and Leslie settle him back down. The instant his butt touches the cushion, he extends his injured appendage, and his head falls to Leslie’s shoulder.

Holy crap. A warm, pleasant energy surges through her, and she pats his left thigh softly. “You guys can stay here. You’ll get some rest, and I’ll let Steph borrow my clothes. It’ll be like a sleepover.” Except these are some of the strangest, weirdest sleepover circumstances in history, but it’s okay because Ben nods and doesn’t protest.

~

Her mom helps Ben to the spare bedroom next to her room, pumping him full of cold medicine and situating his leg so he’ll be comfortable while Leslie lets Steph choose which ever pajamas she likes and blows up the air mattress.

It’s still odd, but it makes it easier to know that they’re both somewhere safe and sound tonight.

~

_November 13, 1991_

Why is it only Wednesday?

Uggghhhh... How did she used to survive in school without Ben? He’s only been in her life for almost a month, and he’s already changed so much about it. Ann keeps pestering her with questions about her fleeing the building yesterday to run off with him, and she assures her it wasn’t like that, but her best friends insists that she knows about her “first time.”

But she definitely can’t explain the truth because it’ll cause more trouble.

So, she goes through each period without him, and it sucks. It royally sucks. He felt a lot better after resting and relaxing for most of the day and was going to come until he jumped down the hallway to their kitchen on one leg because he couldn’t bare weight on the other. Because his mother insisted that he take the day off and go to the doctor. He obviously refused at first, but her mom’s persistent enough to break even the toughest man and said she’ll accompany him and not let anything go wrong. Leslie trusts her mom completely, but she’s eager to know what’s going on.

Okay, scratch that. She really needs to know.

~

She picks up Steph on the way home, and, for whatever reason, all she really wants to do is see Ben. She knows he’s okay. She knows that for sure because her mom would never do anything to hurt anyone, and it’s such a relief to have him and Steph being taken care of. But she missed his face and his jokes whispered only to her and the way his hand always managed to accidentally brush against hers in the hallway.

And, the instant she spies him on the couch, she embraces him, even though he’s clearly asleep. He hugs back before yawning into her hair, and it makes her shiver. “Hey! How’d it go today?” She’s trying to keep calm, but her heart’s going wild, and she figures she’s probably a bit too loud, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Have I mentioned that you guys are gross?” Steph asks in all seriousness from the other end of the couch.

Ben shrugs. “It was fine.” He’s wearing different clothes, but she knows they aren’t her dad’s because she’s seen the flannel before. Did he somehow go to his house?

“Leslie, why are you shouting?” her mom asks as she comes into the living room.

She sighs. “Can’t a girl be happy to be home?”

Her mom scoffs. “Not that happy...” And she goes back into the kitchen.

Leslie plops down on the carpet. “How was the appointment?”

“Alright. The bone’s bruised, and I tore a few ligaments from walking on it. That gash needed stitches, so that was tons of fun. Oh, but there is some good news.”

“Good news? How could any of that possibly be good?”

He smiles. “I don’t have to participate in gym for at least two weeks. Maybe more.”

She high-fives him. “Talk about sticking it to the man.”

“I know, right?”

And, yeah, she could totally kiss him right here and now, but she doesn’t.

That’s right, and she completely means what she thinks.

Instead, they all three chat about what kind of dogs they want and what their favorite ice cream flavor is.

~

Her mom agrees to one more night, but it’s mostly because Steph falls asleep ridiculously early, sprawled out on the living room floor, and she doesn’t have the heart to wake her. Ben offers to carry her upstairs, but Leslie and her mother both laugh out loud at that because he’s on crutches for two weeks and thinks he can support his and his sister’s weight. It’s sweet to Leslie, actually, but it does make her chuckle and playfully slap him for even suggesting it.

They do homework, and Ben makes fun of Leslie’s Spanish pronunciations until they’re both red in the face and her mom has to come quiet them. They eat vanilla ice cream, and Ben convinces her to watch the original Star Wars film, claiming it’s not as bad as she thinks it is. He ends up being right, even though she doesn’t love it as much as him.

And it’s two days before his sixteenth birthday, and both he and his little sister are in her house and seem right at home, like they were always supposed to be here.

To make things better, she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, and he kisses her forehead.

~

_November 14, 1991_

“One more day of being fifteen,” she says. “Feel old yet?”

After two days ago, she threw the idea of a party straight out the window and never looked back.

“You’re, like, ten months older than me. I think the real question is: Do you feel old yet?”

He’s crutching alongside her at school. The hallway’s almost entirely empty, and she’s helping him by carrying his books and such, so the teachers are cutting them some slack. It’s harder for him to move around, and he huffs in frustration because the crutches chafe under his arms despite the padding and his thick flannel over a white long sleeved shirt.

“Want to take a break?” she asks. Not because he’s weak or needs a lot of assistance or is incapable, but because he’s sweating and woke up not feeling great again, and she wonders if he’s actually coming down with something instead of it just being exhaustion like she thought.

Ben shakes his head, but he stops regardless, head hanging toward the floor. “I don’t want to go back home,” he whispers.

She rubs his back and frowns when she feels him trembling. “I don’t want you guys to leave either. It’s been nice having you there.”

“It’s been nice feeling safe,” he says sadly. “Do you know how long it’s been since me and Steph have felt that? It’s been forever.”

“I can talk to my mom if –“

“No. No, that’s not why I told you that. I completely and totally understand; you guys live there, not us. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.”

She nods and holds back her tears. “It’s no problem.” The bell for sixth period rings overhead. “Ready for Bio?”

He manages a slight grin before beginning his hobble down the hall.

~

_November 15, 1991_

“Happy birthday,” she says quietly.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat. Wait. He sounds nasally.

And then he turns around on only one crutch, and there’s a purple bruise on his cheek, and his nose is beat red. “What happened?”

“Didn’t like that me and Steph were gone for two days. Really didn’t like that I went to the doctor.”

Oh God. Tears swell up in her eyes, but she pushes them away. It’s his birthday, and this is what happens to him? Her stomach twists and turns, and he’s barely holding himself upright. She brushes his hair off his forehead, and his burning skin singes her hand. “I’m gonna call my mom. No nurse or anything like that, but you shouldn’t be here today. Maybe she can help.”

He shakes his head. “No. It’ll just make it worse.”

“Steve doesn’t need to know.”

“Your mom’s not gonna let me talk to you anymore if this keeps happening.”

Her brows furrow. “Is that really what you’re worried about right now?”

Ben nods, and she hugs him softly, rubbing his overheated back.

~

“Mrs. Jameson,” the voice over the intercom says.

“Yes?”

“Can you please send Ben Wyatt to the office?”

“He’ll be right there.”

Their teacher nods at Leslie, and she shakes his arm. Ben lifts his head from his desk, teeth visibly chattering as he grabs his backpack. Mrs. Jameson tells him to feel better, and Leslie almost loses it as her friend struggles to make it down the hallway with only one crutch to help support him. How could his father lay a hand on him after seeing him hurt? And she feels absolutely awful that she had to call her mom, but she didn’t seem upset on the phone.

“Hey, sweetie,” her mother says the instant she sees both of them. She quickly wraps her arm around Ben to help keep the strain off his knee. “Not feeling so good, huh?”

Ben shakes his head and actually looks like he’s about to burst into tears too.

The cold wind almost knocks Leslie over as she heads outside. Every fiber of her being wants to go home with Ben and her mom, but she’s not even going to mention it. She knows her mom will take care of him and that she’ll see him later, and he’ll safe. He’ll be okay. And her mom might scold her for the question, so she opts out of that; she’s not sure she could handle it.

He gets in the passenger seat of the SUV, and Leslie gives her mom a quick hug and tells her how much she appreciates this. She’s about to go back in when Ben grabs her hand and tugs her close.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

And a few tears escape down Leslie’s cheeks. “Don’t thank me. Focus on feeling better so I can kick your ass at Monopoly later.”

~

“Does your mom like us?” Steph asks while waiting for Leslie’s mom to pick them up.

“Of course she likes you guys.”

“Are you sure? Ben says he feels like a burden, and I kinda agree.”

“You aren’t a burden, Steph. Trust me, my mom would’ve let you know by now.”

Steph shrugs. “She wouldn’t if she feels sorry for us.”

Wow, she really sounds like her brother.

“She isn’t pitying you; she’s helping. There’s a difference.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want her to hate us. I really like you and your mom.”

Leslie envelops the twelve year old in her arms. “We really like you too.”

Her mom pulls up right at that moment, and Leslie hops in the passenger seat while Steph hunkers down in the back. “How’s Ben?” is the first thing that leaves her mouth, but it’s also what immediately comes from Steph at the exact same time.

She chuckles. “He’s okay. Better. Tired and sore, but he should be fine by Monday if we keep letting him rest.”

“Monday?” the brunette with crazily straight hair asks (yes, she’s still jealous).

“We?” Leslie asks, and her heart nearly explodes.

Her mom nods. “Well, it is his birthday, and even I have to say this is a pretty crappy way to spend it. Figured we could make it special for him somehow. If that’s okay with you two.”

Steph nods eagerly, and Leslie hugs her mom once more, even though she’s driving.

And she instantly feels way lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really going to lead into Ben and Leslie's relationship. Since they're only teenagers here, I wanted to accent the role that Marlene will play. She looks out for Leslie, Ben, and Steph's best interests, and I think that's very important. 
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story so far, and thank you very much for reading! Feel free to follow me on Tumblr: @supervanillabear31.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to firstinfriendshipfourthinobesity for reading over this for me! :)

_November 15, 1991_

He’s more than half asleep when he hears a quiet knock at the door. And he honestly has no idea where the hell he is until he rubs his bleary eyes, and the realization slams into him: He’s at Leslie’s house. Her mother had driven him here, picking him up from school, taking his temperature, and tucking him into bed like he’s her own son. She kissed his forehead and everything. And he’s not sure if the overwhelming nausea is from that or because his sure heart’s about to beat out of his chest.

Ben doesn’t answer; he just rolls on to his side, wincing at the bolt of electric pain coursing through his knee. Leslie enters with Steph following closely behind her, and he tugs the comforter up to his chin. No. He doesn’t feel like even glancing in their direction. Embarrassment nips at the base of his skull, overflowing his senses with guilt and remorse and shame. Because this shouldn’t happen. Because it’s really wrong.

Because Steve will kill him. And try to kill Steph too.

Not that he would ever let that happen, though.

He wants to run, to bolt out the front door with his reluctant sister in tow, to avoid Leslie Knope and her mother for the remainder of his existence, but this bed’s super comfortable, and he’s actually warm for the first time in months. Still, though, this doesn’t change that he’s going to have to leave at some point today. He can’t go another two and a half days without returning home, even though it’s peaceful and quiet and smells nice, and Leslie’s here.

“Hey,” Leslie whispers. Steph sits on the edge of the bed, her hand patting his covered foot. “How’re you feeling?”

But his body acts like sludge, all broken down and tired out and super sore. His eyes are already starting to feel heavy again; he’s been sleeping for most of the day, only woken up when Marlene comes in to give him medicine. “’m okay,” he manages to mutter nasally, nuzzling his face deeper into the marvelous pillows. How are they still so soft and fluffy? He’ll never understand.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Leslie asks.

Ben shakes his head. “N’thanks.”

All he really feels like doing is hiding out in here until he can find a way to escape without hurting any feelings.

“Okay. We’ll be in the living room if you need us.”

He nods and closes his eyes, but only until the familiar arms of his sister wrap around him. “Feel better, Benji,” she whispers, and he rubs her back softly.

~

Afternoon morphs into evening, and he still hasn’t thought of an idea remotely useable. Or he can’t think period. His mind’s moving way slower than usual, and his body screams for rest each time he contemplates moving. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, doesn’t care to know; all he knows is that he needs to get out of here before he causes anymore damage.

Steve’s probably already throwing a fit. Maybe even tearing up the city to look for his whipping boy.

His knee aches, and his nose runs, and bouts of nausea forcefully plow into him, and he just doesn’t want to be here anymore. Everything hurts, and he knows he’s whining and pouting like a freaking baby, but it almost isn’t worth the fight. He’d much rather hole up here for the remainder of his days, living with Marlene and Steph and Leslie until they eventually get sick of him. Because, trust him, they’d get tired of him so quickly it’d make his head spin.

There’s a knock at the door, the first one since Leslie and Steph left hours ago, and he braces himself. Okay, it’s time to go. He sits up, placing his spinny head into his warm hands before trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Need to use the bathroom, sweetie?” Marlene questions, walking right in his direction. She offers her hand out to him, but he sits there instead, shivering in his boxers and long sleeved shirt. “You okay?”

He nods, and tears try to swell up in his eyes, and, good lord, when did he become such a toddler? Why is it so hard to keep his composure? He’s usually so great at it; in fact, he considers it to be his only marketable skill, the skill that keeps him from snapping. Marlene sits down next to him, placing her hand on his back and rubbing it gently. He flinches and prepares himself for a blow of some sort, for pain to knock him back in his place, but it never comes.

“You’re still really warm,” she points out. “Want to lie back down and try to rest?”

And then, somehow, a few tears do manage to break free, and a sob wracks through his body, and why is this happening? Why? “’m s-sorry,” he mumbles, wiping at his cheeks and desperately craving a dark hole where no one can see him. “I’ll... We’ll go home n-now.”

“Absolutely not. You need to relax and actually get better, Ben.”

He bites his lower lip. “N-No. You don’t u-understand.”

“Oh, I think I understand plenty. But all I see is a kid who’s hurting and needs to take it easy.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m sorry, but me and Steph need to go.” He somehow pushes himself on to very terribly unstable legs; his left one’s trembling just as badly as his right, and he’s not even sure how he’s going to walk yet. He fumbles with the jeans folded on top of the dresser, situating himself with the one crutch. Only nothing’s working, and everything’s going wrong, and why is he so tired? His eyes droop, and his vision blurs, and standing takes way too much effort.

He can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t go home to his dad. Maybe another day, but not today.

But it’s going to make things so much worse if he stays here.

What if he never comes back? Chooses to uproot him and Steph one last time.

Wait. What is he talking about? He can’t live at the Knope’s. He’ll need a stable, reliable job, and, hey, he’s sixteen now. He can drop out of high school and work full time while Steph continues to get her education. Yeah. That sounds like a good plan. If only he could get his pants on like a responsible, capable adult; that’d be great.

“Ben, lie back down,” Marlene says kindly, her hand now on his shoulder.

“We should go,” he repeats stronger this time, even though every fiber of his being is begging for him to stay.

Stay here. Even if it’s only for a few days. Stay here and figure things out.

But, if he thinks he’s hurting now, it won’t compare to what he’ll feel later because Steve will probably break his leg instead of just deeply bruise the bone.

He hiccups and scrubs a hand over his face before Marlene steps in front of him. “I’m not going to say it again. I’m not trying to be the bad guy here, but you need to calm down and rest. You’re hurt and sick and need to be taken care of. I know. I know things are rough for you, and, you’re right, I don’t completely understand, but you need to let me help you. You think that you’re an adult, and, in some ways you are, but you’re still a kid. You’re only sixteen years old. You still need to be looked after, especially now,” she says.

Ben gulps and nods, and she helps him back into bed. His knee throbs, and he curls into as tight of a ball as he can manage.

~

“Happy birthday,” Leslie whispers, settling beside him with a dose of cold medicine in her grasp.

Ben sits up enough to chug it down before grimacing and lying back down. “That’s easily the worst birthday cake I’ve ever eaten.”

She giggles quietly, and could she be anymore perfect? Having her here ignites goosebumps to take over, and she’s so beautiful. Wait. What is he saying? “I made cupcakes for you last night. I could go get you one if you want.”

He shakes his head. “Tomorrow. Don’t think I can stomach it tonight.”

But she made him cupcakes? Really? He hasn’t gotten anything for his birthday since his mother died. Sure, Steph’s tried a few times when they were younger, but he told her not to bother. Not in a mean way or anything, but today isn’t different than any other day to him. Her birthday’s much more important and the one that should be celebrated.

“Do you wanna watch a movie with us? Steph decided on The Breakfast Club, but we might be able to talk her out of it.”

“Nah, The Breakfast Club sounds good. Never seen it. Might as well learn what the fuss is about.” He goes to get himself in a standing position, eyes heavy and head dizzy and body generally being uncooperative. “I’m only wearing boxers,” he warns her.

She chuckles. “I don’t care about your skinny white boy legs. Do you want some pants, Mr. Wyatt?”

He nods, the cold November air soaking into his skin. This is easily the warmest, most insulated house he’s ever been in, but he doesn’t want to go out to the living room in only his underwear in front of three girls. “All I have is jeans,” he says. And his knee feels so swollen right now, especially with the brace, that he doubts he could get them all the way up, even though they’re at least two sizes too big for his waist at this point.

“We picked up some of your clothes. Well, Steph did, I mean.”

His eyes widen, and his pulse quickens. “Wait. What? How?”

“Don’t worry. Your dad wasn’t even home.”

Oh God. The nausea’s back, and his heart slams in his chest. “Why would you go over there?”

“I just told you: To grab some clothes. Steph got a few of hers too. Enough for the weekend.”

“Les, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why? I didn’t go in, and I said your dad wasn’t there.”

He swallows thickly. “It doesn’t matter. Steph’s not supposed to go in there without me. She knows that.”

“Whoa, hey,” she says reassuringly, rubbing his shoulder. “Nothing bad happened. She was in and out in less than three minutes. She literally packed up a duffle bag by throwing a bunch of stuff in there because she said she was terrified of going in without you. We were going to wake you, but your fever was really high, and Mom said she’d stay with you.”

“You guys don’t have to keep doing –”

“Nope. No more of that, Wyatt. It’s okay. Everything’s okay, and Steph’s fine, and we just want you to feel better. That’s it.”

He nods, burying his face into her shoulder. She smells so pretty, and she wraps an arm around him, tugging him a bit closer to her and kissing his hair. He tries to manually will his pulse to slow down, but it pounds relentlessly, and, despite the news, this is the best he’s felt all day. Leslie’s here, and Steph’s here, and Marlene’s here, and, for once, he doesn’t feel so alone.

~

“Ben, you’re awake!” his sister says excitedly, scooting over on the couch to make room of him. Leslie acts as his other crutch, and she totally helped him get into plaid pajama pants because his body’s being too big of an asshole to support itself. He spies Marlene in the recliner and smiles at her. He smushes himself in between Steph and Leslie, crossing his arms over his chest.

Instantly, Leslie spreads a red quilt over his lap. It’s not as warm as their guest bed, and he’s in pretty urgent need of tissues, but it’s as close to paradise as Ben’s felt in ages. They start the movie, and, to be honest, he’s not really watching it. His head hurts, and his muscles feel like microwaved goo, but it’s worth it somehow. Because sitting beside Leslie and his sister with Marlene in the room makes all of these things seem minuscule.

He still has no idea what he’s going to do, but, right now, it doesn’t matter.

~

Ben falls asleep during The Breakfast Club.

And he wakes up with his head on Leslie’s shoulder and their fingers entwined together.

His heart skips several beats in a row, and he goes to sit up, but Leslie grips at his hand tighter, and he settles down.

~

_November 16, 1991_

“You need to try to eat something, okay?” Marlene tells him.

There’s toast, ham, bacon, sausage, eggs, and fruit, and he hasn’t seen this much food all at once since his mother died. And, seriously, his stomach shrivels up at the sight and especially the smell. Yeah, he hasn’t been eating lately, but who cares? Food has literally no appeal to him anymore, even though Steph’s enjoying herself, and Leslie’s sitting to his left. But there’s only a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him, and he still can’t bring himself to do it.

He almost plays the sick card. Almost. But he’s not really that kind of person, even if he truly doesn’t feel one hundred percent, even after a full day’s worth of rest. He’s not as congested anymore due to the ungodly amount of cold medicine flowing through his system, but everything’s foggy, and his clothes feel strange, foreign on his freezing skin.

“Ben, eat,” Marlene says a bit more harshly this time. Not rudely or anything, just sternly.

His eyes droop, and he uses his a hand to hold up his head while he swishes around the liquid and noodles. She made all of this food and spent her time doing it, and he should at least take a bite. It’s just soup. The idea of warmth on his sore throat sounds marvelous, but he imagines having to possibly chew and the contents heading to his stomach, and he can’t. He stops fiddling around with the spoon and pushes the bowl away ever so slightly.

“You really should eat,” Leslie points out to him. “Especially if you wanna stop being so shrimpy.”

He frowns. “I’m not shrimpy.”

“It’s probably the reason you’re so short,” Steph says.

Great. Why does he need her input too?

He rolls his eyes. “I’m just not hungry.”

“Five bites,” Marlene says from the head of the table.

“What?” he questions.

“Five bites and then you can get up.”

His sister actually chuckles (screw her), but Leslie pats his thigh with a comforting, cute smile. “I’m not a baby.”

“I never said you were. Five bites or you’ll sit here the rest of the day.”

Marlene can’t be serious. He glances over at her, and, wait – yeah, maybe she can be.

Ben hesitantly picks the spoon back up.

~

He pukes up the soup ten minutes after he leaves the table. He’s been trying to concentrate on falling back asleep, but his stomach keeps rumbling in anger, begging and pleading for him to release its unwanted contents. He quickly sits up and ducks his head inside the trashcan next to the bed. His throat burns, and his insides shrivel, and mucus pours into the plastic lining.

And he figures the unpleasant sound of retching is what draws Leslie into the room. “Are you okay?” she questions frantically, rushing over to him and placing a careful hand on his back. She’s warm and comforting in all the right ways, and he finds himself subconsciously moving closer to her. His stomach empty, the fried nerves crumple into a relaxed heap, and he sets the trashcan on the ground before placing his head on her shoulder once more.

Leslie helps him lie back down, and he falls asleep holding her hand.

~

There’s something about being in this house that perplexes, yet reassures him.

He knows there will be trouble eventually. Marlene will find out he’s had to steal in order to survive when Steve doesn’t work for months at a time. Leslie will discover that he’s dropping out of high school effective Monday. And then that’ll be it. He wants to enjoy it while he can, this serene quality he’s not sure how people ever grow completely used to. He’s running on limited time before Leslie will most likely stop associating with him.

Without school, they wouldn’t have much in common anyway.

Except they both like History Channel documentaries and local government and politics, which is pretty weird for sixteen year olds.

But she’s super smart and clearly going some place in life, and she doesn’t have time to hang out with him. He gets it, and, no, he’s not throwing a pity party. This isn’t a “oh, poor me” scenario to him; this is his life, and he has to make the best of it. A vast majority of that goes toward making sure Steph, above anything and anyone else, is taken care of. She needs food and clothes and school supplies, and there’s fieldtrips and clubs she deserves to participate in.

If this is the best course of action, then he’ll take it, even if it means losing Leslie.

And Marlene. Because she kind of scares him, but she looks for the best in two people she hardly knows.

She must be a saint of some sort.

And, while Marlene’s a saint, Leslie’s an angel. Because she makes him feel better just by simply by in his general vicinity. School used to be some sort of nightmare for him, but Pawnee’s different, and Leslie’s definitely amazing. Somehow, she managed to make him believe he mattered, even if it’s only for a second. She’s tough and passionate and has an opinion on pockets (they should all be bigger), and it’s more than enough to bring him to his knees.

Well, knee, because his right one still isn’t being all that cooperative.

Leslie fell asleep on the guest bed with her head on his chest not too long ago, and, since then, Ben’s been terrified to move. This may be the last bit of peace he gets. He’ll have to find a job on Monday, and hopefully work his way up from there. He’ll have to face Steve and probably get the shit kicked out of him. He’ll have to listen to Steph ridicule his decision to drop out.

He’s not entirely sure if dropping out is the right decision, and he’s not in a hurry to discover it just yet.

As long as he has Leslie, even if only for a few more minutes, he’ll enjoy this moment with her.

~

_November 17, 1991_

“You’re what?!” Leslie questions incredulously as if he’s lost his damn mind. “Ben, you can’t possibly be serious.”

He shrugs. “Well, I am. It’s what best for Steph.”

She immediately shakes her head. “How? You’re sixteen. You’ll be flipping burgers for the rest of your life.”

“People get by on a lot less.”

And it’s true. Steve’s gotten by on welfare checks and scamming since the dawn of time, and he still hasn’t been caught. Ben isn’t even doing anything illegal, and he won’t need welfare. Doesn’t need it now. He’ll save up enough money to move out within a year and have Steph out of the house just shy of age fourteen if he plays his cards right. He’s been doing budgeting since Leslie told him goodnight and hasn’t slept a wink since, but he doesn’t need it.

What he needs is for Steph to finally be completely and entirely safe for once in her life. Because Mom died when she was three and doesn’t remember, doesn’t know a life of stability, of financial soundness. Doesn’t understand that they actually used to be a family. Sure, Steve drank, and there’s no erasing that from their past, but Ben recalls watching his big brother Henry play elementary baseball and cheering him on from his father’s shoulders.

“You don’t want this for yourself.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“Because I know you, Ben. Because you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Why would you let that go to waste?”

“I’m not that smart. There are plenty of people out there better than I am. I’m trying to do what’s best for my family.”

She sighs. “No. You’re being a coward.”

Coward? How the hell is this cowardly? He’s making a decision he shouldn’t have to for the well-being of his twelve year old sister.

Leslie continues. “I know you think you’re doing what’s right, but that’s a lie, and you know it. Why would you blow such a wonderful opportunity to graduate high school? To go to college? Do you really want to be busting your ass at some minimum wage job for the rest of your life, or would you rather work a little harder and make something of yourself?”

“Whoa. Wait. No,” he says hastily. “I work hard, Leslie. As you’ve decided to point out multiple times this conversation, I’m a good student. I do my homework. I go above and beyond in classes that I truly don’t give a shit about. I’ve tried to think of other ways to make this work, but this is the only solution that might turn out alright.”

“Make what work?”

“My life, Leslie. My life. Steph’s life.”

He can’t deny the tears swelling in her eyes, and he frowns, biting his lower lip. “You have a year and a half left of high school, Ben. That’s it. Then, you’ll go to college and major in accounting or political science or whatever else that big brain of yours can handle. You’ll get a good, stable job with benefits and vacations and sick days, and you can take care of Steph.”

Ben rubs his forehead. “Les, do you not understand how long all of that will take? Steph can’t be in that house if I graduate from high school and move to college. She can’t. I will not let that happen. I have to drop out. She needs to graduate and figure out where she wants to go, and then I can think about picking up where I left off. Get my GED or something.”

“GED’s don’t mean as much as diplomas,” she points out.

“Yeah, I get that. But I can’t take another minute of living under the same roof as Steve, and I can’t keep subjecting Steph to it either.”

“You’re not subjecting her to anything, Ben! You’re sixteen for crying out loud. You’re just a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he says with a shake of his head.

She nods. “Oh, yes you are. You shouldn’t have to even be thinking about this, but you are. But I’m telling you right now that you’re wrong.”

And, even though he kind of wants to scream at her for each word that leaves her mouth, he doesn’t. Can’t bring himself to. Because what if she’s right? Okay, he doesn’t want to drop out. He definitely doesn’t want to. Everything Leslie’s said is logical and reasonable and rational, three languages Ben’s very fluent in. But the thought, the concept, the inclination that it means putting Steph through anything else with Steve makes him seriously queasy.

He’s a big enough person to admit that he’s scared for himself too. Because Steve seriously could snap and do a lot more damage. Could snap and kill Ben and then hurt Steph in unimaginable ways. Could do so much more than what Ben thinks he’s capable of. He’s okay with bloody noses, broken ribs, bruised knees, black eyes. But being in that house under the same roof with him is more than he can handle. More than what he can chew.

All it takes is one slip, and their lives could be over.

Ben rubs at his eyes, and is he seriously going to cry?

No. Stop.

But a few tears manage to escape despite his inwardly protests. “What should I do then? Les, I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

Leaving seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

But ruining his future and ultimately depleting any and all life forms of his happiness isn’t worth it.

Leslie tangles their fingers together. “You finish high school. You go to college. You get a job in something that will make you happy.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never been that simple for him.

“Steph wouldn’t want this for you either, Ben.”

~

“You look better,” Marlene tells him as he hobbles into the kitchen. “Want something to eat?”

And he finds himself nodding before he has a chance to compute the reason why.

She gestures for him to take a seat at the kitchen table. He lays his head in his arms until there’s a hand on his shoulder. Another bowl of chicken noodle soup is placed in front of him, along with ginger ale and crackers on the side. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “This weekend, um, really means a lot to me. I haven’t had a chance to relax like this in a long time.”

Marlene pats his back. “It’s not a problem. I’ve enjoyed the company.”

“You don’t, uh, y’know, have to do this,” he lets her know, just so she hears it. “Like I said, I appreciate it. I just don’t want to... be a burden.”

She shakes her head. “You’re not a burden, Ben. If I didn’t want you here, trust me, you wouldn’t be here. Now stop talking, and eat your soup.”

~

Marlene gets ahold of a spare crutch for him to use from a guy down the street. Leslie adjusts it to the perfect height and wraps the stupid chafing part up in the softest, most padded material he’s ever felt. It helps him move more easily and not grow so tired as quickly. For the first time in forever, part of him feels whole, like he’s not missing a gigantic piece of his body or something. Like he’s living normally with sort of unusual circumstances.

Like he has people to lean on.

Really, he has no idea where his life’s going to lead him, but with people like Marlene and Leslie, he knows they’ll make it better for him and Steph both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the story so far! :)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to firstinfriendshipfourthinobesity for reading through this! :)

_June 1, 1992_

“I’ve never seen someone so bummed out over school ending,” Ben says.

Ann shrugs. “She gets like this every year. She’s normally over it by July.”

“July?” he questions incredulously. Who is this woman? She’s only seventeen and adores education and Student Council and is extremely diligent in all things community service. She lives to help Pawnee and is even spending the summer tutoring kindergarten through fifth grade students, as well as interning at City Hall.

Her best friend nods. “Yeah. And then she starts preparing for the new year a few days later.”

“Good lord.”

But there’s no denying that her scrunched up face is cute and adorable, and he grins before glancing back down at his textbook. He officially only has one more final for his junior year, and then it’s over. And, honestly, he’s really not looking forward to that because it means spending much more time at home. Steve hasn’t been there for almost three weeks, which has been interesting because Ben literally has sixty-one dollars to his name after buying groceries last night. But, overall, he approves of his nonexistence a lot more than the latter.

“Can I see your notes from May twenty-eighth?” Leslie asks, nudging him with her elbow. “I’m really not sure if I took a thorough enough look at –”

“Whoa, Les. Calm down. I’ve seen all of your notes. They’re great,” he reassures.

It doesn’t help that their last final is in math. Well, he actually loves Pre-Calculus and is really looking forward to Trigonometry next year, but Leslie gets seriously spooked when it comes to numbers. No, she’s not bad at any of the concepts (at all), but she’s a massive perfectionist and wants everything to be exactly correct. She bawled her eyes out over the last test when she got a seventy-six, but, in her defense, she came to school with a fever of 103. She desperately wanted to take it, but, the second she was finished, Ben immediately called Marlene.

A seventy-six isn’t even that bad (it’s still passing), but it was life altering for Leslie.

Since then, Ben’s been helping her everyday after school, as opposed to his usual Monday, Wednesday, and Friday schedule they worked out back in December. He’s gone over countless problems with her, and she does absolutely fantastic in front of him, but she tends to get a little bit more nervous when she’s sitting in the class with the papers in front of her. It’s unusual because she’s such a strong, resilient person who oozes confidence, and it only makes him try harder to find a method to help her realize how brilliant she is.

“Okay, I’m heading out. Do you guys want a ride?” Ann asks as she begins to pack up her books.

Leslie glances at Ben, and he eyes her back, shrugging his shoulders.

“No, we’re okay. Thank you, beautiful sunfish.”

Ann leaves, winking at Leslie, and he pretends he doesn’t notice. His cheeks heat up for a few moments before his heart rate settles in his chest. “I don’t see you having any issues at all on the final,” he tells her honestly. “If you keep doing exactly what you’re showing me, you’ll definitely ace it.” He smiles at her, but she looks away briefly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s tomorrow, Ben. The final is tomorrow, and I’m gonna fail, and then my chance at Presidency will be ruined.”

He shakes his head, and, somehow (seriously) he finds himself rubbing his thumb over her knuckles gently (and she lets him). “You’ll do great. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over one bad score. I know it upset you, but you were really sick and unfocused. I know you don’t think that’s an excuse, but it honestly is, Les. This one is different. You’re prepared, and we’ve covered everything multiple times and reviewed each chapter individually. You got this.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You don't even have to open a book to ace a test.”

“Leslie, stop. Don’t bring yourself down. Come on. You need a distraction.” He begins to shovel his books into his backpack.

“No. Wait. What? We still have to go over chapter seventeen. It’s the one I’m shakiest on.”

“We can look at it tonight. I promise. But you need a break.”

“What about Steph?”

“She’s spending the night at Rachel’s.”

“It’s a school night,” she counters, still sitting in her chair.

“Thanks, Sherlock. She’s in seventh grade. They aren’t doing anything educational during their last three days.”

“Okay. I’ll go,” Leslie says. “But under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“We get JJ’s for dinner.”

He nods. Money is nothing when it comes to Leslie’s happiness. “Deal.”

And, yeah, maybe he blushes like crazy when she grabs his hand as they head to her car, but, in his defense, she is super pretty, so it makes sense.

~

Over the last few months, JJ has become an extremely familiar, welcoming face in Ben’s life. The guy’s pretty nice and treats both of them like adults rather than kids. He knows both their orders before they even sit down in their corner booth. And his pulse pounds in his ears, and his palms sweat as Leslie slides in beside him, tangling their fingers together once more.

“I can’t believe school’s over on Wednesday,” she pouts, and Ben finds himself rubbing her knuckles once more. “I mean, I still have so much more headway to make in Student Council, and next year’s my last year, and it’s all so overwhelming.”

He nods. “I understand. You have all summer to come up with new events and sponsors, and you’ll have more than enough time to study for the SATs and get ready for senior year. But don’t be sad; it’ll still be a great couple of months. Aren’t you excited for tutoring or interning?”

She shrugs, messing with her straw and swirling it around in the Coke almost absentmindedly. “School’s just kinda my place to focus on what I really want.”

“I know the feeling. It’s a pretty great distraction.”

Which is immensely true. Without school, he would probably go insane having to deal with Steve everday. It hasn’t been bad since he isn’t home a whole lot anymore, but it puts a greater financial strain on him, and he hasn’t exactly been proud of some of the things he’s been forced to do in order to survive. He’s applied to several different places, including fast food, but he doesn’t have a car or a driver’s license, and, to be honest, his knee never healed quite right, even after all of Marlene’s preventive safety measures (because, like he predicted, Steve damn near broke his leg once he returned home). And walking super far distances wouldn’t help.

JJ brings out their food, but he’s not that hungry. He just gets bacon and toast and changes his drink depending on the time of day. Sometimes it’s appetizing; other times, eating sends him into a panicked frenzy. He’s not exactly sure why. But Leslie happily spreads the extra whipped cream on her waffles and digs in, so he feels obligated to at least nibble on the toast.

“When’s Steph’s soccer camp start? Soon, right? I wanna make her a scrapbook before she leaves.”

“Next Tuesday. She’s been packed for almost three weeks. Your duffle is seriously crammed.”

It’s her late birthday present from him (well, it’s not actually late since he gave it to her on her actual birthday, but the camp starts on June ninth). Two and a half entire weeks of soccer, which is all his sister talks about these days. She’s on the team at her middle school and does phenomenally well. She’s been bouncing up and down and giddy since her birthday at the beginning of May, and his heart feels lighter each time he thinks about her going off and having fun. Real fun. She’ll be away from the chaos of Steve and finally get to do something she wants.

And she’s been talking about it nonstop. Steph’s always been a talker period, but it’s great for him to hear her be so excited about something. She’s never been one for school, and that’s perfectly okay. She tries her best and gets all A’s and B’s, so it’s not like he could ask her for anything more. The night of her birthday, she called Leslie and told her the good news, and, since then, Leslie’s been helping her prepare and organize everything.

“Are you worried about her leaving?”

He nods. “I am. But I know she’ll be okay. It’s not like I’m sending her away with Steve or his equivalent. She’s going to play soccer and make new friends, and that’s it.” It’s going to be the first time since Ben was six that he hasn’t had to look after Steph, but he firmly believes this will be good for both of them. Steph’s thirteen and needs independence; she doesn’t need her older brother breathing down her neck on a pretty constant, consistent basis.

“I think what you’re doing for her is really sweet,” she says, and he almost dies inside.

He grins. “Well, she deserves it. After all, how could I not send her somewhere awesome? Her birthday is May fourth, and I always say, ‘May the fourth be with you.’ She needs some justice for that at the very least.”

She returns the smile. “Nerd.”

~

_June 2, 1992_

“I bet you did great, Les! We studied all of that stuff pretty thoroughly.”

She shakes her head, clearly unconvinced. She bites her bottom lip, and Ben immediately shuffles her off to the side of the hall to avoid getting ran over and wraps his arms around her. Leslie squeezes and hides her face in his neck, and he begins to rub her back once he feels what seem to be tears on his skin. “I did awful,” she tells him muffled and sadly. “I know it.”

“What? No. We just went over most of those problems before the test, and you got every single one of them right. Why do you think you did bad?”

She shrugs, still hugging him, but her grip loosens a bit; it’s the closest they ever been to each other. He typically tenses when someone is in his bubble, but Leslie’s always more than welcome. “I’m horrible at math, and everything about it stinks, and it should die in a very deep hole. I re-did numbers eleven and twenty-two, like, a billion times, and never wound up getting the right answer. I just couldn’t concentrate. And I kept looking over at you once you finished, and you seemed bored, and all I wanted to do is go back home and watch movies with you.”

And, at that, his hands begin to shake, and sweat beads on his forehead. He runs his fingers through her hair and, suddenly, as if it were out of the blue, feels his lips gently brush against hers, and is this really happening? She doesn’t try to stop him, doesn’t try to push away. In fact, she clutches on to a wad of his long sleeved shirt and tugs him slightly closer. His brain tramples over itself, running and sprinting and going a million miles an hour, and his heart overflows with whatever this is. He feels like he can’t breathe, but in the best way possible.

Leslie’s kissing him.

Leslie Knope is kissing him.

Her lips are warm and soft, and she’s so beautiful. So so so beautiful and pretty and elegant, and she’s everything he could ever hope for. Yeah, that’s probably cheesy and cliché, and they totally just shared a kiss in the hallway of Pawnee High School, but he wouldn’t change anything about it. He should be nervous, terrified. But he melts in the comfort of her kiss, even if it’s meant to be reassuring for her and not the other way around. They pull apart at the same time, and he pecks her on the forehead. She blushes and beams.

“I know you did amazing, Leslie,” he whispers.

She nods, and he swears he spots more tears swelling in her eyes.

But they head off to seventh period together, hand in hand.

~

_June 3, 1992_

“I got a ninety-six, Ben!” she shouts, running straight to him with her exam in her grasp.

He smiles, instantly hugging her. “I knew you did amazing!”

“A ninety-six! That’s twenty-points higher than the last one!”

“You really rocked it!” he tells her excitedly. She’s still clinging around his shoulders. Her hair smells like apples and pears. “I’m so proud of you.”

She nods into his neck. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” She pulls away, and a hand rests on her waist while their knuckles brush against each other.

“You would’ve done great either way.”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean it. Seriously, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t here.”

He grins, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“Ready to blow this Popsicle stand?” she asks.

“We still have two more periods left.”

She nods. “Crap on a cow. You’re right. But, after this, we’re going to my house.”

“Sounds great.”

~

_June 8, 1992_

He doesn’t know how it happens, but, suddenly, it’s like the sun dies when she’s not around. Granted, he’s felt this way for months, but now they kiss and hug and hold hands, and it’s way more than he can handle. And that’s in every positive way imaginable. Because he’s so incredibly lucky to have this lovely lady in his life, and she makes each day better with her smile and her laugh and the passionate stances she takes on pockets or waffles or wildflowers.

She’s way too perfect for him.

“Okay, so Steph still needs sunscreen,” she points out.

They’re downstairs in her living room going through Steph’s (Leslie’s) oversized polka dotted duffel bag. Leslie really wanted to make sure she didn’t leave without anything and everything she could ever need. Marlene adds that to the list, proclaiming that they’ll stop at Target after dinner. And he couldn’t be more grateful for this wonderful mother-daughter dynamic duo who have helped them both tremendously over the last several months.

“Do you think you have enough clothes in there, Steph?” he questions.

His sister looks over at him. “Are you being serious or sarcastic? Sometimes it’s really hard to tell.”

He rolls his eyes. “Serious. Did you pack extra underwear and socks? What about feminine products?”

“Gross. No talking about my period,” she says.

“You literally just talked about it,” he points out.

She nods. “Well, that’s okay because it’s my body.”

He sighs. “Steph, just humor me. We’ve never even been apart for a day, so this is kinda a new scenario.”

Steph sighs, but she complies. “Yes, I packed that stuff. And extras just in case.”

~

“Marlene, let me pay for this,” he offers. “Please.”

The check’s in her hands, and she wouldn’t even let them split it between him and Steph and her and Leslie.

She shakes her head. “Put your wallet away, Ben.”

“But this was really expensive and nice... Would you at least take a twenty? Something?”

It’s a fancy, well-lit restaurant where he got to order lobster tails, and Steph munched happily on shrimp while Leslie sipped from an overly tall Frappuccino. “Ben,” she warns, eyeing him carefully. He sulks back against his seat and exhales softly. He’s stuffed, and Steph’s head is on his shoulder as he bounces his heel up and down. Marlene shouldn’t pay for this. She shouldn’t have even taken them here. It’s way too nice.

And it’s all because his sister’s leaving for two and a half weeks, and Marlene wanted to do something special for her.

“I’m really full,” Steph moans. “But this was amazing. Thank you so much, Marlene.”

“You’re more than welcome, sweetie.”

~

_June 9, 1992_

“I’m gonna miss you, Benji,” Steph says, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

“I’ll miss you too. But you have Leslie and Marlene’s number, and they already said I could borrow the phone to talk to you.”

There are tears swelling in her eyes, and he squeezes harder. “We’ve never been apart,” she reminds him.

“I know. I know, but you’ll be okay. It’s normal to be nervous, but you’ll make friends fast and learn a lot.”

She nods, and he finds himself kissing the top of her head when she pulls away. Steph hugs Marlene and Leslie, thanking them for everything before embracing him one last time. Dammit. Really? He’s sixteen and getting misty eyed, but he supposes that’s not unusual. She’s his younger sister, but she’s growing up. She’s branching out and trying new things, and it’s alright to be apprehensive.

Well, “apprehensive” is probably the wrong word in this context.

Because he’s nauseous and borderlining sprinting to the bathroom to hang his head in the toilet.

She gets on the bus and waves to them, and Ben feels his heart somehow sink and lift at the same time.

But Leslie grabs his hand comfortingly, and that makes this a little better.

~

_June 19, 1992_

“What did you think of the movie?” he questions.

It’s a scorching summer evening, and there are purple bags beneath her eyes from copious amounts of tutoring and chasing around seven year olds. The sun’s going down, and the streets are shadowy, but he’s practically drenched from head to toe in sweat. The air is thick and weighs heavily on his lungs, and Leslie reaches up to brush his hair from his forehead.

“It was great. A lot better than I expected it to be.”

Well, they had spent a rather large, significant portion of the film making out, but that’s beside the point.

He can still hear the ending score to Batman Returns blaring from the theatre behind him, and he smiles. Leslie’s hand fits amazingly well in his, like they’re meant to be touching at all times. She’s slurping on the rest of their Pepsi as they stroll back to her car. He opens the door for her and proceeds to get into the passenger seat wordlessly, an embarrassing pit brewing in his stomach because, while he paid for the tickets and snacks, Leslie drove here. He doesn’t have a license, has no way of acquiring one, and a car is definitely nowhere in the foreseeable future.

But, just as he’s about to voice these concerns, Leslie cranks up the A/C, and her lips crash against his.

~

_June 20, 1992_

“What do you think about interning in my office for the rest of the summer, Ben?” Marlene inquires as she takes a sip of coffee. Leslie’s in the bathroom changing into more comfortable clothing for evening picnic at the park, and he’s sitting on the couch, half paying attention to the TV and half trying to make his heart shut the hell up and calm down.

He glances over at her. “Are you serious?”

She nods. “Very serious. Of course, you’d just be my assistant, but you’d make some money for you and Steph.”

“What about Leslie? Shouldn’t she get that job instead?”

“Leslie’s my daughter; she can’t be my assistant. Besides, I got her lined up with Councilman Houser months ago. The job’s yours if you want it.”

He smiles, gulping but then immediately getting up to hug her briefly. “Thank you so much, Marlene. This will really help a lot.”

“Don’t mention it. By the way, you better not be screwing my daughter, or I will kill you.”

~

“So you’re working for my mom now?” Leslie asks. Her head’s in his lap, and he’s carding his fingers through her hair. She plays with the digits on the opposite hand and kisses each one of them individually, and it’s honestly the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Is that okay with you?” And he guesses he’s an inconsiderate jerk because he didn’t even ask if it was alright. After all, Marlene is her mother, not his. And she certainly doesn’t have to keep helping them out if she doesn’t want to. He knows it’s a temporary position with a lot of answering phone calls and taking messages and making copies and fetching coffee, but he doesn’t care. He’d much rather do this than flip burgers or something.

She nods. “Of course! Ben, I’m happy for you. I think it’ll be great! Plus, we’ll work in the coolest building in Pawnee.”

He leans down to kiss her forehead. “You’re amazing. Have I ever told you that?”

She giggles. “Tell me more.”

~

_June 22, 1992_

It’s not exactly the greatest first day of work in the world, but that’s okay.

His knee’s extremely swollen and irritated by five o’clock, but the good definitely outweighs the “bad.” Marlene’s a bit bossy (and now he’s paranoid about admitting this; what if she’s a robot? What if she can read his mind?), and that’s alright too. He learns she prefers her coffee with three creamers and two sugars. He discovers City Hall is a wildly big building and that he should never ever go to the fourth floor again. And he finds out that he and Leslie have the same lunch break. They ate leftover grilled hamburgers from the night before while holding hands.

“You’re limping,” Marlene notices. And, yeah, she drove them both here.

He shrugs. “I’m alright. It’s not a big deal; it just happens sometimes.”

“Still? That was months ago, Ben,” Leslie chimes in, concern lacing her words.

“It flares up when I walk too much, but I swear it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”

And, yeah, that’s definitely not his first lie today, either.

He gets in the backseat while Marlene and Leslie plop down in the front. He stretches out his knee, but the movement aches, and panic rises through his core. Oh God. What if Marlene doesn’t think he can handle this? What if she’s trying to fire him now? What if he’s a horrible office assistant? He wishes she would just tell him instead of asking all these questions.

“Ben.” He snaps out of his slight trance. “I can hear you worrying from up here. Calm down. It was just an observation. But you’re icing that knee when we get home.”

“Am I coming over?” he squeaks out.

“Yes!” Leslie says automatically.

But Marlene adds, “Only if you want to.”

Of course he wants to, though.

~

“What do you think about a fundraiser for the Pawnee Resident Center?” she asks. “Their roof caved in earlier this month because of the raccoon infestation.”

“Wait, I thought that was because of the leaky swimming pool?”

“No, that was at the Community Center.”

He nods. “That could work. But how much do you think we’d raise for that?”

“I’m not sure on the numbers exactly, but I know it’s better than continuously selling candy bars.”

“Well, I happen to really enjoy those candy bars.”

She pokes him with her pink glitter pen, and he leans forward to kiss her. It’s been a quiet, peaceful evening here at the Knope house, and he can’t be more thankful for the opportunities he’s had since he’s met them. It’s nights like these that make him feel like the most fortunate guy in the galaxy. Marlene’s sort of scary, but she always looks out for both him and Steph, and Leslie’s obviously the most perfect woman in the history of existence.

Marlene enters just as their lips meet, and he backs away quickly. “Okay, love birds, time for bed. You both have work in the morning.”

Leslie stands up, offering Ben her hand. He gently places the ice pack wrapped in a towel on the coffee table, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. The inflammation’s gone down drastically since he got here, and he’s effectively stayed off of it since they got home. Well, their home, not his home. Because he doesn’t live here.

His knee’s still tender as he applies weight to it, but he’s pretty positive he can walk back. “Thanks again, Marlene,” he says with a wave, but she stops him.

“Whoa. Nope. Go lie down in the guest room.”

He shakes his head. “I’m okay. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

“Benjamin Wyatt, this stubbornness has to stop. Go change and lie down.”

He gulps. “Yes, ma’am.”

~

_June 23, 1992_

“I think these would be helpful for you today,” Marlene says, dragging the crutches out of the closet. He internally moans and drops his spoon into the bowl of Frosted Flakes. Leslie rubs his shoulder as she continues to much on her extra sugary Lucky Charms.

But he doesn’t, can’t say no. Even if he’s relatively certain he can make it all day again without too much of an issue, especially after a good night’s sleep (or a great night’s sleep because those pillows are seriously heaven to him). He nods and continues to eat, figuring there’s no sense in rebutting. After all, an entire day and a half without putting pressure on it would most likely help the swelling stay down permanently. Maybe he does need to just rest it.

“I really like that tie on you,” Leslie says. “Very professional. And it makes your eyes pop.”

He glances down at the plaid shirt and skinny tie, smiling before kissing her cheek. “Thanks, babe.”

And, yeah, he totally called her “babe” and got away with it.

In fact, he sees Marlene kind of smirk out of the corner of his eye.

Maybe he has more game than he thought.

~

“Remind me how it’s only Tuesday?” Leslie moans as they walk (or, well, he crutches) down the hallway.

He nods. “I know what you mean. All I’ve been doing is making copies since we got here.”

“Councilman Houser asked me to change his son’s diaper.”

“He brought his son to work?”

“Yeah. His pee was purple, and I’m pretty sure that’s not normal.”

Ben grimaces. “You might wanna tell him that.”

She shrugs. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”

~

“Is this what Bush feels like after a long day?” Leslie asks.

Her head’s on his chest as they lay in the guest room of her house, where they’re trying diligently not to fall asleep. It’s barely eight in the evening, and the sun’s not even down yet, but she’s exhausted, and he’s more than wiped out. The room’s cool and brisk, and the flowery comforter is pulled to their waists as she entwines their legs together. It’s blissful and perfect, and Ben can’t imagine a better way to ever spend his night.

“I would assume so. Who knew clerical work could be so exhausting?”

She draws circles near his shoulder with her finger and snuggles softly against him. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Ever will happen to him. Yeah, he’s only sixteen, and they’re still in high school, but that doesn’t matter. Each and every time Leslie’s around him, he feels like there’s nothing he can’t do. Like he’s invincible even when it’s painfully obvious that he’s not. He holds her close and kisses her forehead, and she’s gorgeous.

But she’s so sleepy, and it’s very unlike her. She stays up for days at a time. He figures she would stay down for longer periods after not resting properly for over seventy-two hours, but she pops up and is ready to go after only six or seven. It’s amazing, and she’s amazing. Did he mention how perfect she is? Because that’s definitely a quality to highlight.

Soon, he’s lulled to sleep by her gentle, soothing presence.

Of course, though, it doesn’t last long because Marlene shakes her awake and makes her go upstairs, but it’s easily the best few minutes of Ben’s entire life.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who continues to read this story!
> 
> And a special thank you to firstinfriendshipfourthinobesity for beta-ing! :)

_June 25, 1992_

It’s her fourth day of working at the absolutely amazing City Hall. It’s been her dream to assist a Councilman (or woman) since she was seven years old, and her wonderful mother presented her with this perfect opportunity. She’s swimming in the loveliness that is this job, as well as the awesomeness of tutoring younger kids on the side. When did her life suddenly become so exciting?

It’s a gorgeous summer morning. The sun is already peeking through the clouds, the pavement’s heating up and getting ready for children to run across it on a constant basis, and it’s even more amazing because of the cute guy sitting beside her. A very very cute, handsome guy who’s chugging down coffee like it’s his only lifeline. Because said guy may or may not have gotten dragged out of bed at three in the morning to watch C-Span in the living room.

There are smudges beneath his droopy chocolate brown eyes, and his hair is somehow even more endearingly disheveled than usual. The green and grey checkered shirt combined with his black skinny tie and khakis make her want to pounce on him, also more than usual, lay him flat against a mattress or wall or whatever and make out hard with his confusingly angular, attractive face.

“Ben, you look half dead,” her mother points out the second she sees him. He’s spent four nights in a row over here not even bothering to go back home to pick up extra clothes. “What did I tell you about staying up all night and watching those Star Wars movies?” Because, yeah, she’s also kind of acting like his mother now instead of only hers.

His eyebrows furrow. “But I didn’t do any–”

“He’s fine, Mom. Just a little tired. Isn’t that right, Ben?”

At that, he nods firmly and takes another sip of coffee.

~

“Councilman Howser’s son’s pee is still purple, and I’m beginning to wonder if he ever actually watches his baby himself,” Leslie informs Ben. He’s not eating, and he has his head propped up on his hand. His eyes are closed and everything, and seriously? She swears that if he doesn’t get at least six or seven hours of sleep every night that he isn’t functional.

Oh. Right.

But that could very well be a good thing, because the old version of Ben (the more closed off and grumpy and introverted version) hardly ever slept. He lived on edge, constantly tense and mind always ready for a fight. Now, Steve’s not around nearly as much and Ben’s been spending a lot of time over at her house, relaxing, sleeping and watching movies and finally (thankfully) eating at least semi regularly like a normal sixteen year old guy.

Now she sighs loudly and takes his right hand in hers. It’s only lunchtime and they still have four hours of work left, she has no idea if he’ll make it that long. Good thing they have almost their entire sixty minute lunch break left.

“Hey,” she whispers, nudging him. “Let’s go.”

Ben opens his eyes slowly. “Where?”

“You need a nap,” she says nonchalantly, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles but catches himself quickly. And he’s standing there with his tie askew and messy hair and partially untucked shirt and he doesn’t even know he’s driving her crazy. “C’mon.” And she leads him all the way to the fifth floor of City Hall, where she’s become great friends with the receptionist Linda (they talk about their love and fascination for all things scrapbooking everyday at three). They’re on their lunch, so it’s not like shoving him on to a couch and forcing him to lie down is wrong.

He immediately grabs her hand when she goes to stand up. She only contemplated leaving him alone because she’s the one who kept him up all night, but he clearly doesn’t want that; he sticks his bottom lip out and pouts and everything. Instead, she curls up on the mini sofa, allowing him to be the big spoon. Go figure, almost instantly he starts snoring. It’s sort of loud and kind of adorable, and she still can’t believe someone as young and small as him snores like this.

~

“Aren’t you hot in that?” Leslie questions. They’re taking a stroll around Harvey James Park after work. It’s around seven in the evening so it isn’t as miserably scorching. But, she did kind of forget that Ben’s knee isn’t fully healed yet, so this probably isn’t her best idea even though he seems perfectly fine. Fine, other than the fact that he’s soaked in his own sweat. It’s still 90 degrees out, and Leslie changed into athletic shorts, a Parks and Rec t-shirt, and flip flops as soon as she got home. Ben only switched into jeans, lost the tie, and unbuttoned his plaid shirt.

He shrugs. “I’m okay.” A drop of sweat rolls into his eyes right after he says that, and he rubs it away.

“Why don’t you at least take off the button up? Afraid of showing me your skinny white arms?”

He frowns, but they keep walking. Her eyebrows furrow, and her heart sinks a little in her chest. Is he okay? Did something else happen? Did Steve hurt him again without her knowing? Except, other than the knee of course, he’s okay. There aren’t any bruises or abrasions, and he’s acting exactly like the Ben she’s grown to really really like over the last few months.

“Did... Did I say something wrong?” she questions.

They stop to take a seat on a park bench, and Ben stares at the ground for a few moments before inhaling shakily.

“I have...um, scars,” he says quietly.

Oh God. She’s such an inconsiderate jerk.

She covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean anythi–”

But he kisses her lips softly instead. “I-It’s okay. It just kinda, y’know, m-makes me feel...uncomfortable.”

“I’m really really sorry,” she apologizes again.

God, she’s such an idiot.

Sometimes, Ben acts so completely normal and okay and not traumatized that she forgets. It nags at the back of her mind every now and then, but he’s making so many strides in the right direction. He’s at least somewhat sociable and speaks in front of people now. He tries to maintain eye contact before breaking it off. He talks to her about how he’s feeling. She forgets that he didn’t grow up the same way she did, that they haven’t been best friends their entire lives.

He shakes his head. “No. It’s okay, Les. I’m honestly sorta surprised you didn’t ask earlier.”

“Do you ever wear t-shirts?” she asks, trying not to pry too much. Because she’s seen him on more than one occasion in his boxers (a lot of that happening when he was sick over his birthday weekend). But she has no idea if that was just a fluke since he was feverish and exhausted, and his knee was really swollen. She didn’t even pay enough attention to see if there were scars.

Ben shrugs. “No. Not since I was younger. And I don’t feel like wearing shorts in public now after the whole knee thing. The scar’s jagged and long and gross, and I don’t want anyone to ask about it, so I just...cover it up.”

“You don’t have to hide in front of me,” she hears herself saying. “Obviously, this is a park, and you never have to do anything you don’t want to, but –”  
He cuts her off with another kiss, running his fingers through his hair. And she swears his mouth is like magic. Because she melts at his tender, soothing touch and embrace; she has literally zero idea how he knows exactly how to rile her up and cool her down, but he does. He’s handsome and gentle and is absolutely, one hundred percent perfect.

“I know,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

~

_June 27, 1992_

“Ben!” Steph screeches, flying into her older brother’s arms and crashing into him almost violently. Leslie chuckles and she can’t help but smile brightly as the two reunited Wyatt siblings hug each other. It’s been two and a half weeks of fun and soccer camp for Steph, while she and Ben have mostly focused on work and hanging out with each other. She doesn’t want either of them to go home, and she prays her mom doesn’t make them.

“Hey, Steph,” she hears him say. “I missed you.”

Steph clings on to him a little bit longer before pulling away. “I missed you too.”

“Did you have fun?” Leslie asks. Steph embraces her, and when did this thirteen year old get taller than her? It’s literally just a smidge, but still. Oh God. She’s almost taller than Ben. Haha. She’s going to tease him about that relentlessly later, but not right now.

She nods. “It was a blast! I have so many pictures!”

“Wanna make a scrapbook later?” Leslie inquires. “I could help.”

“Definitely!” She turns to Ben. “Are we, um...going home?”

It’s the question of the hour; Ben had been wondering himself earlier, nudging her about it during the car ride over here. She and Ben exchange glances, and he bites his lower lip. But her mother steps in and gives Steph a hug too.

“How about you come to our house for a bit? We’ll eat and get settled in, and you can tell us all about your vacation.”

Steph agrees right away, and she latches on to her big brother as she excitedly recounts stories.

~

_June 28, 1992_

“Um, when did you guys start doing that?” Steph questions, and Leslie pulls herself away from Ben’s lips; his eyes are still closed with a dopey expression on his face. She’s straddled him on the couch with her legs on either side of his hips. They had been watching early morning cartoons and eating cereal out of the bag in their pajamas, cuddled beneath a blanket, when he could no longer keep his hands to himself. Leslie’s heart pounds.

Steph is thirteen and Leslie has no idea how she’ll handle the concept of them dating.

Because, yeah, she called Ben her boyfriend earlier, and he made a remark back about her being his girlfriend.

So that’s new (and she really likes it).

But neither of them moves from their position. In fact, Ben places his hands on her waist, tugging her a bit closer. “While you were gone,” he answers.

“So, you’re like boyfriend and girlfriend now?”

He grins. “We are.”

All it earns is a shrug from the younger Wyatt and a smile from her.

~

She scrapbooks with Steph the entire evening while Ben volunteers to mow their lawn. Her mom pesters him to be careful and not hurt himself, and he nods, putting on his headphones and a baseball cap and heading outside. Leslie opens the blinds and watches his cute butt every now and then when she glances up. She and Steph talk about her camp, the fact that they’re now dating and how Leslie used to collect rocks (and maybe still does) when she was little.

Ben returns drenched in sweat, and her mom forces him into the shower, like that’s not where he was going in the first place. He smiles at her, and she always gets these butterflies in her stomach and goosebumps on her skin. Why is he so perfect? Does anyone even know?

The moment he sits down on the floor, fresh from the restroom with damp neatly parted hair and wearing sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt, her mom plops an ice pack on the carpet beside him.

“Again?” he questions, gesturing to his knee. “I did it last night.” She doesn’t know exactly why, but wow, she doesn’t expect that almost whiny retort from him.

“You’re still limping, and it’s probably swollen. I think we’re gonna go to the doctor next week,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

Ben huffs, but he places the ice pack on his knee anyway.

“She’s just looking out for you,” Leslie says, touching his arm softly.

He nods and then points to a pile of stickers. “Can I help?”

Of course, both Steph and Leslie agree immediately.

~

_July 4, 1992_

“They’re so beautiful,” Leslie says for the thousandth time that evening. They’re sitting at Ramsett Park in a double camping chair, their fingers entwined and her head on his shoulder. Steph pokes at him every few seconds, telling him look up, and she can’t help but laugh. Because Steph has been oddly attached to him since she returned home, and he isn’t exactly thrilled one hundred percent of the time about that. Except he’s easily the most patient and considerate brother she’s ever seen; she’s sure other siblings would’ve exploded by now.

She loves all holidays almost equally, but the Fourth of July is so festive and bright, and it celebrates America. Fireworks pop and crackle overhead. It’s a muggy humid night that makes Leslie’s hair feel like it’s glued down and causes her shirt to stick grossly to her skin. She has no idea how Ben’s not dying in long sleeves and jeans even considering what she learned a few days ago, but he seems like he’s doing fine.

Ben hasn’t been back to his house in almost an entire month. He went back very briefly (super briefly; he made her wait in the car for him) to grab enough clothes for a while. He had originally protested (of course because he’s the incredibly stubborn Ben Wyatt) when her mother first suggested it since Steph wouldn’t be there, but he reluctantly agreed. He usually still offers to go home once a day, but her mom always refuses.

After seeing him in that state all those months ago, Leslie thinks she's finally glad to see him functioning normally.

Well, they both are.

He squeezes her hand and leans over to kiss the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her despite the heat.

~

_July 7, 1992_

“Surgery? No. I can’t do that, Marlene.”

“You act like you have a choice. We’re getting this taken care of once and for all.”

“But I don’t know I’ll pay –”

Her mom stops him right there. “Ben, I know you’re not that dense.”

But he shakes his head rapidly. “No. No no no. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering, and you’re gonna take me up on that offer.”

She watches her boyfriend gulp shakily, and she rubs his knuckles with her thumb reassuringly. His face pale and sweaty, he looks like he’s going to pass out.  
“You don’t want to be in pain the rest of your life, Ben,” her mom reassures. “You’re young; you’ll bounce back from this quick.”

“You don’t understand,” he tells her. “My dad will kill me.”

He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, and Leslie actually watches his eyes go bloodshot and the color drain from his face. She squeezes tightly and ends up placing tiny kisses on each of his fingers. She can feel him trembling all over; she’s never once heard him openly discuss (well, openly for the three of them) his father in any capacity.

“He won’t lay a finger on you, okay?” Marlene says. “I swear I won’t let that happen.”

And he shakes his head even more. “You can’t promise that. You’ve... Y-You’ve never seen him when he gets mad. He broke one of my crutches when you took me to the doctor. Imagine what he’ll do if I get surgery.”

“Why does he have to know?” Leslie finds herself asking.

He glances at her like she’s nuts. “Surely he’ll notice that his two kids are mysteriously missing.”

“Ben, he hasn’t even come looking for you, and you’ve been basically living with us for a solid month,” her mom points out.

He nods, gulping once more. “I-I know.”

“It’s a four week recovery. He won’t even know. And I’ll kill him if he ever touches you again.”

~

_July 13, 1992_

“Hey, at least you’ll be out of work for two weeks,” she teases, nudging him lightly. She’s trying not to epically panic, to calm down her frazzled nerves. Because her boyfriend’s lying on a gurney in a white gown on this otherwise beautiful Monday morning. She and her mother took a few days off to see the operation through, get him home, and start his road to recovery. Her mom keeps telling her and Steph that he’ll be absolutely fine, but it’s kind of hard to believe her when the one person who can keep her calm (a.k.a. Benjamin Franklin Wyatt; that’s not his real middle name, but it’s what Leslie always calls him) is getting ready to have surgery.

He shrugs sleepily. “You’ll just get to do all my work while I’m gone then. That should thrill you.”

“Okay, Mr. Wyatt. We’re ready for you now,” a nurse says as she re-enters the room for the eleventh time in an hour.

Great. Now he’ll be knocked out by anesthesia and be in surgery for hours, and she’ll have to wait forever and a day to see him again.

Her mom smooches him on the cheek, and Ben tells her how appreciative he is of her.

Leslie gives him a monstrous bear hug, and they kiss several times before they’re pulled apart.

“Don’t worry about me, Les,” he tells her quietly.

~

“He’s been gone a really long time,” she hears Steph whisper to her mom.

“Ben’s fine,” her mother says for probably the thousandth time in half an hour.

Because both her and Steph can’t seem to stop worrying about him. Steph is only thirteen, but she’s proclaimed numerous times that she hopes he’s okay and she has no idea what she’d do without him. Which is, by the way, literally exactly how Leslie feels. Her stomach (yes, her stomach) pounds, and she tries desperately to focus on reading the stories she had the third graders write a few days ago, but nothing seems to work.

“I don’t think this is normal,” his younger sister says. “I’m gonna see if someone can tell me how it’s going.”

But Leslie grabs her arm as she goes to stand up and pulls her into a hug. “Shh. It’s okay. Your brother’s okay.”

~

He’s unbelievably groggy when they’re finally allowed to see him. He can’t keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds, and Leslie tries to kiss him but his lips go slack against hers, and she chuckles. Her mom holds his hand, and Steph waits eagerly for him to actually regain complete and total consciousness because she’s somehow convinced he won’t wake up period.

“You look good, Ben,” her mom says, patting his arm while he blinks heavily.

“You really do,” Leslie adds, smiling at her exhausted boyfriend.

~

_July 14, 1992_

“I think this pudding is poisoned,” Ben mumbles, plopping the vanilla pudding cup back on the tray.

But her mom isn’t having any of that. “Uh uh. Finish that.”

“Why?” he whines, and, yeah, he’s still not fully himself yet. Apparently, the dose of anesthesia wacked him pretty hard because he’s kind of a small guy, which made him even unhappier.

Her mom rolls her eyes. “I think that’s pretty obvious. And it’s not poisoned, so eat up.”

Ben tries not to gag as the doctor checks over his incision and discusses the prognosis with her mother. Leslie rubs his left thigh, avoiding any chances of hurting the IVs. Steph’s beyond passed out, her body somehow small enough to fit scrunched up in a plastic chair. And snoring must be an inherited thing. At least hers is definitely quieter than her brother’s.

She listens as the doctor tells her about the two weeks of knee immobilization, and she cringes. Because Ben’s barely awake and still high on painkillers, so he isn’t exactly registering anything in particular at the moment. And then the extra two weeks of crutches after that. Depending on how he treats his recovery, it may take five to six weeks to heal, but the doctor is positive if Ben rests and does what he’s supposed to, he’ll be walking around in four weeks on the nose due to his young age and agile body.

“Do I have to eat anymore?” he asks, briefly showing the cup to her mother.

She shakes her head and pats his shoulder before returning her attention to the doctor.

He grabs on to her hand before immediately falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to follow me on Tumblr: supervanillabear31.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to fourthinobesity and BenjisCoolTimes for being my extra sets of eyes! :) 
> 
> And a massively big thank you to everyone who continues to read this story!

_July 16, 1992_

He’s happy.

Sure, it’s been a long road to get to a place in his life where the term “happy” actually meant something, that the formal definition could personally apply to his situation. And, to be totally honest, he never thought he’d have this. He never thought he’d have a girlfriend who somehow manages to make him feel like a whole person, like the parts of him that vanished years ago have returned seamlessly. He never thought he’d have a brave, outspoken, kind woman take him and his sister in with open arms and be a proper parental figure. He always imagined just Steve haunting them for the rest of their days, torturing, tormenting, and squishing their chances of bliss.

Okay, sure, all of that’s probably a bit too sappy, but he’s had a lot of time to think lately. He’s fresh from the hospital after his knee surgery and isn’t up to the normal mobile standards yet. He literally can’t even put weight on his right leg yet, but he feels the difference already. He’d been walking on a limb that never really healed for almost an entire year, but it’s finally at the point where he knows he’ll get some peace, that it’ll work out in the end.

Ben has never had that pleasure before.

Or, at least, not that he can remember. He’s sure that there were moments in time, snapshots and freeze frames where his family was relatively normal. Because, yeah, Steve has always been overly fond of beer, but he never physically lashed out, at least that Ben saw. He remembers his mom wearing shorts and tank tops in the summer; there’d never been any trace of abuse. At least there was nothing he picked up on.

And, his dad was normal. Steve took him and his brother to and from school, watched TV and played board games with them, and took care of them when they were sick. He used to beam proudly about his children, even a baby Steph who couldn’t even hold her own head up. And then their mom passed away, and Ben’s world crumbled around him. Henry started to get in vast amounts of trouble, Dad started to drink heavily, and Steph started to grow up.

Which leads him to today. Henry’s recently turned twenty and is in jail, and Steve’s M.I.A. Which isn’t like him, at all, and Ben doesn’t know whether he should be worried or not (or if he should ignore the incessant bubbling in the back of his mind screaming that something’s really wrong). And, for the first time in a decade, he finds himself happy despite what’s stacked in front of him. Because he’s not alone anymore, and he has people that care enough about him and Steph to help.

“Can I go to Rachel’s?” Steph questions, poking her head inside the guest room before entering altogether. Marlene and Leslie are both at work, and luckily his sister isn’t a little kid anymore, otherwise this wouldn’t be fun. Not even in the slightest. Not that it’s fun in the first place, but it’s still much better than having a screwed up knee for the rest of his life.

He nods. “Be back by six.”

Steph quickly thanks and hugs him before closing the door, scampering away to her friend’s house. He wishes Leslie were here. She’s always plenty entertaining; they come up for new ideas for Student Council or watch movies or just talk. Marlene wheeled an old, rickety TV set in here and there are plenty of films for the VCR, but moving around still kind of sucks. His head feels stuffy and clouded, and his knee is almost uncomfortably numb (and he’s more than worried about what it’s going to feel like once he runs out of painkillers).

He hears Steph leave, and he lies back heavily against the pillows wiggling his toes for good measure just in case they somehow went missing or something. He returns his attention to his massively crumpled version of The Two Towers, but he finds himself sinking into a comfortable, peaceful sleep. Instead of doubts and troubles, he’s filled with happiness and calmness.

~

There’s a hand on his shoulder and it jolts him awake, and he immediately flinches at the touch. He waits for a blow of some sort to force him to his feet, but nothing ever comes. He struggles to breathe and grips briefly at his hair as he opens his eyes to find Marlene hovering over him before taking a careful, tentative seat on the edge of the bed. She reaches her hand out, and he sucks in a shaky gulp of air as she brushes his hair from his forehead.

“Nightmare?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not what I asked, but I’ll leave it alone. Did you take your meds today?”

Ben nods. “Yes, ma – I mean, Marlene.”

“How about breakfast or lunch? Did you eat?”

He glances down at his fingers still clutched around the comforter and stares blankly. She’s been doing a lot of wonderfully nice things for him, but he’s never really that hungry. Yeah, he’ll eat when they’re sitting around the dinner table, but the food is in the kitchen. He’s relatively positive that his medicine-fogged mind and quivery limbs wouldn’t be very helpful in getting there alone. His main concern is falling and messing up the work that’s already been done to help him get better. Plus, like he said, it’s a rarity for him to actually crave food.

“Okay, well, you’re in for a big supper tonight. I’m thinking salad, spaghetti, and garlic bread,” she says. “Look, I know your leg hurts, and it’s a bit of a hassle, but you have to eat. You’ll waste away and lose all of your strength if you don’t.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything. Marlene leans forward and kisses his cheek before exiting.

~

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt right now?” Leslie asks. They’re watching TV in the guest bed, her head on his chest as she traces patterns with the tip of her finger on his hoodie. She’s giggly and adorable, and he wants to gently pin her to the mattress and kiss the hell out of her, but the pills are wearing off (which is apparently noticeable), and he’s exhausted even though he’s literally been lying here doing nothing all day long.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “A three.”

She huffs. “Liar. You can be honest any time now, Wyatt.”

“Fine,” he groans. “Like an eight.” Leslie moves, and he grumbles before softly grabbing her arm. “No, don’t go.”

“Relax. I’m gonna go get your meds.”

He shakes his head. “Your mom won’t let me take them without eating first.”

And, yeah, the strong stench of marinara fills his nostrils making him want to hide in a cave for all of eternity. Staring at the television is immensely boring, focusing on his growing mound of books gives him headaches, and, really, all he wants to do is sleep. The doctor said this will wear off within the next day or two, but he wants it to go away now. And, he’s still not hungry in the slightest, despite not eating for over twenty-four hours at this point.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

~

He crutches himself out to the kitchen for dinner. Yeah, know how he was discussing being happy earlier? Well, that part has vanished for the moment because he can’t bend his stupid knee; and when did his head start to pound so viciously and loudly? He takes a seat at the table, stretching out his achy muscles and cursing under his breath. Leslie instantly starts to rub his back, and he places his head on her shoulder as she plants a kiss on his temple.

But, instead of having a massively giant meal placed in front of him, Ben exhales thankfully when he sees it’s chicken noodle soup and crackers instead. He’s not sick, but something tells him he would be if he had to eat a lot tonight. He picks up the spoon and lets the liquid sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing cautiously. It’s warm and tastes fine, but still, he’d much rather be fast asleep, tucked into bed with Leslie wrapped around him.

“What do you guys think about me playing soccer in eighth grade?” Steph asks as he tries to settle his stomach. “Tryouts aren’t until March, so I know it’s premature, but I don’t know if I have the skills to do it or not.”

“Wow, you really talk almost exactly like Ben,” Leslie comments at first, and he and he sister share glances before shrugging. “And, I think you’d be great for the team.”

He nods, nibbling on a cracker. “Definitely. And we could always kick the ball around, an –” He stops mid-sentence once he sees Marlene staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “Um, I mean, after my leg heals and...stuff...”

Steph chuckles. “Nice try, Benji. We all know you don’t have an athletic bone in your body.”

“Hey, my ultimate skills are pretty badass, if I do say so myself.”

Leslie laughs from beside him. “Yeah, you’re the only one saying that, babe.”

~

_July 20, 1992_

“Well, week one is in the books,” Leslie says, plopping down at the end of the couch, alert enough to just barely miss sitting on his foot.

He nods, not even looking up from The Return of the King. “One more week to go.”

“One more week to go until what?” Marlene asks.

At that, he drops the book from in front of his face. “Until I get this stupid brace off of me.”

“That particular brace,” she points out. “You still have another two weeks after that.”

“Maybe more,” Steph pipes up from her position sprawled out on the living room floor on top of multiple pillows.

“Great, yeah. Thanks, Steph. That’s really optimistic of you,” he notes, reverting his attention back to the novel. It’s then that Leslie’s lips collide with his, and he runs his fingers through her hair before Marlene tells them that that’s enough.

That night, he goes to bed happier than he has in an entire week.

~

_July 24, 1992_

“Got any threes?” Steph asks.

“Go fish,” Ben replies, and his sister draws another card. Somehow, now that he’s eleven days post-op, he’s gone crazy. Because he’s read through multiple books and comics, watched the Star Wars trilogy six times, and effectively memorized twelve infomercials between the hours of two and four AM when he can’t sleep to save his life. He will never understand how time manages to pass so freaking slowly when he’s desperate for it to move faster.

“Are you really that bored?” his sister questions.

His eyebrows furrow. “Wanna switch places and see?”

“Wow, violent. You never threaten me like that, Benjamin.”

At that, he grimaces. “Don’t call me Benjamin, Stephanie.”

“Don’t call me Stephanie, Benjamin,” she mocks back.

Marlene enters the living room at that moment. “What is with you two? I’ve never heard you argue before.”

They both shrug at the same exact time, and that’s when Ben realizes something: He’s not the typical older brother, and Steph’s not the typical little sister. Growing up the way they did they always had each other’s back, and there was never really any room for teasing. Now, they bicker and banter, and it makes him feel lighter somehow. Like this is how things are supposed to be. Of course, he would never ever do anything intentionally to make Steph upset, and he doubts she would either. But, it’s almost refreshing to know that they’re acting like actual siblings, rather than two people who are completely dependent on one another.

“He’s annoying me,” Steph points out clearly, like the problem is plain as day.

Ben scoffs. “How am I annoying you? I’m not doing anything.”

She sets the cards down on the couch. “With your face.”

“Oh, great comeback. Please continue onward with your theories of annoyance.”

But, really, this just ends in Steph standing up and hugging him.

They can’t even stay irritated that long.

~

_July 31, 1992_

By the time Friday rolls around, Ben’s underarms are massively chafed, red, and uncomfortable, especially since he got the immobilizer off a few days ago and is able to sort of walk again. Steph’s nursing a good ‘ole fashioned summer cold that Leslie’s clearly caught too. Leslie is watching TV in the guest room with him once again, only this time her face is hidden in his neck, and she’s shivering despite the comforter and his arm wrapped around her. He got her to take NyQuil after work (with some help from Marlene), and, surprisingly, she hasn’t moved much from her current position which he’s immensely grateful for.

Steph fell asleep a couple hours ago at the foot of his bed, sprawled out on her stomach with her hand on Ben’s covered foot. She’s snoring and unconsciously coughs every now and then, and he feels so helpless. Because, yeah, his mobility increases daily, but it’s still not quite like being able to jump up and pitch in to help these two amazing ladies get better. Instead, he holds on to Leslie as her teeth chatter against him and tries his best to warm her up.

There’s a quiet knock at the door before Marlene steps in, supplies in hand.

“Are they doing any better?” she inquires softly.

He shrugs. “Not really. Leslie’s fever is kinda high,” he says, motioning with his eyes at her snuggled against him.

Marlene spreads a quilt over Steph, who entwines herself in it immediately. He hears his sister smack her lips before sighing in her sleep, and he feels guilty; he’s supposed to take care of her. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s a concept he’s still struggling over, mulling through, but he understands now that he can’t do it all. It’s not his fault that she’s sick, and it’s not his fault that Leslie’s sick either, and he’s been trying his best to relay that information to himself.

She places a cool washcloth on Steph’s neck, brushing her hair from her eyes, and Ben smiles softly as Marlene does the same for Leslie. “Are you okay with her lying here?” she questions, and, seriously, it’s the dumbest question he’s heard in forever, but he gets it.

He nods. She rubs her daughter’s back for a few moments, patting her shoulder softly and glowing brightly because she brought this wonderful woman into the world. Ben can’t wait to see what’s in store for them. They’re quiet and still, and it’s weird to see both Steph and Leslie, two highly energetic individuals, sleep soundly and peacefully.

Marlene gets up, snatching a fluffy pillow from the closet and rounding the other side of the bed. Wordlessly, she settles the pillow beneath his right leg and he winces at the sudden, but gentle, movement. She grabs an ice pack he didn’t even see when she came in here from the dresser and settles it on the length of his knee, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“Get some rest, kiddo.”

She’s about to leave, but Ben stops her. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you so much.”

Tears swell in his eyes, and Marlene smiles. “Don’t thank me. You deserve more than you’ll ever understand. You’re a really great guy, Ben.”

~

_August 1, 1992_

It only makes sense that he wakes up the next morning with a sore throat and runny nose. His head pounds viciously every time he contemplates moving, and why does his knee hurt so badly? It feels like his skin is being torn from the area, burned and singed and broken into pieces. He grumbles and scrubs a hand down the side of his face and contemplates calling out to Marlene, Leslie or Steph because he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to feel.

Really, it’s almost like one of them is magic or something because just when he swears he’s about to actually burst into tears for whatever reason, Leslie enters, burrowing beneath the covers and smushing herself against his side. Only, her touch sends uncomfortable voltages of electricity coursing through him and he bites his lower lip, begging the room to stop spinning. He grips at the comforter and tries to make his mind quit overthinking everything.

“You okay?” Leslie inquires. And she’s still sick too, but she places her hand on his forehead anyway.

He shrugs, but then that wall (and what a brief one it was) crumbles all around him. “No.”

“Have you taken your meds this morning? I know you think you don’t need them because it’s been almost three weeks, but you’re not Superman.”

Ben shakes his head.

“That’s probably the issue then. I’ll be right back.”

But he tugs her back down and kisses the top of her head, despite the agony shredding through his leg. “Don’t go.”

“You should really take something, especially if you’re in this much pain.”

“No,” he whispers. “Please just stay here with me.”

She does, and it makes all the difference.

~

_August 10, 1992_

“Four weeks on the nose!” Ben exclaims as he hobbles down the hall toward the kitchen, only using one crutch. He’s fresh from the shower, hair wet and floppy, with water dripping into his eyes and onto his hoodie. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting clearance to actually walk. He’s been dreaming of this for twenty-eight entire days.

Marlene eyes him, and Leslie, as if on cue, comes to the table with the other crutch in her grasp. “Your appointment’s at eleven, Ben,” his girlfriend says. “You don’t want to ruin your chances of losing these things by putting too much pressure on it the day you’re supposed to get rid of them. It’s only four more hours; stay off it til then.”

He frowns, sticking his bottom lip out. “When’d you get so bossy?”

Marlene pecks the top of his head. “She gets it from me.”

~

He’s okay to walk.

Ben is actually going to be able to move around without the constant annoyance of stupid crutches. Sure, he can’t run or jump and still has to wear a smaller brace (which, thankfully, is also a lot less restricting), but the doctor said his leg looks great, and he’ll make a complete and full recovery in an additional two weeks. He won’t even have to wear a brace after that, and the thought of getting his entire independence and mobility back excites the hell out of him.

He goes into work with Marlene after the appointment, proudly showing off to his fellow City Hall employees that he’s back in action. Leslie runs up to him and hugs him, and he inhales her fresh pineapple-y scent. He hasn’t felt this great in ages, and he’s so ready just to get moving and start eagerly doing his job (which he’s sure he won’t be saying in a few days).

“So you’re all good to go?” Leslie asks as they walk toward Councilman Howser’s office.

He nods. “Yep! Well, for the most part.”

“So you can swing with me tonight at the park?”

“We’re going to the park?”

“Of course! It’s only the best place ever to celebrate your recovery!”

He’d totally kiss the hell out of her if they weren’t in City Hall.

~

Ben tries not to focus on the downsides, but they’re obvious at the end of the day. He’s only been here for four and a half hours, and his leg is absolutely exhausted, so much so that he hobbles back to the car with an even worse limp than the one he walked in with. He leans on Leslie for support and instantly places his head on her shoulder once they’re in the backseat.

“I guess no park tonight?” she questions.

And, he feels his heart literally shatter in his chest. “No. We’re going.”

“Absolutely not, Ben,” Marlene says from the front. “You can’t rush this. It’ll ruin the work the surgeons did.”

Leslie kisses his hair. “Don’t worry about it. How about a backyard picnic instead?”

~

_August 16, 1992_

He goes home, to Steve’s, because Steph begs him to pack up most of her room. She doesn’t want to do it herself, and he doesn’t blame her. Marlene’s okay with them staying for the time being, and for once, he doesn’t try to fight it. Doesn’t try to brush anything aside or sweep it under the rug. He just knows he’ll do this as quickly as possible and get out before anything bad happens.

But it doesn’t look like Steve’s been here in a while. Dust covers almost every single surface he comes into contact with, and Ben finds himself smiling. Because maybe this horrendous nightmare is over. Maybe they won’t ever have to deal with him again. No, it’s not like he wishes his dad were hurt or dead or anything, but Ben does want to be free from him permanently. Often times, it keeps him awake at night while he’s at Leslie and Marlene’s, but he can at least settle down eventually because he knows he’s safe, and no one would ever hurt him.

Not intentionally at least. Although, he has stepped on Legos six times in the last week.

Which is not exactly a pleasant sensation, but Leslie’s cute and adorable and perfect, so it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t do an overly extensive clean out of Steph’s room, but he does gather every article of clothing he can find, as well as her CDs, movies, makeup, and leftover soccer equipment just in case she needs it. He heads into his room, shuffling every belonging he can into a borrowed duffel bag because being in here gives him the creeps, and he wants to leave. He needs this to be over. He needs to get out of this place and move on with his life, once and for all.

“Benny?” he hears, and his heart sinks to his toes. He gulps, his body begins trembling immediately, and no. No no no. This can’t be happening. Shit. Fuck. He needs to leave. Escape. Run. Run super far away. He knows Marlene will be angry because he still shouldn’t be doing that, but he’ll pay her back. Oh God. Actual, real vomit creeps up his throat as he turns around to find Steve staring at him incredulously, like he thinks Ben is a ghost or something.

Steve’s sloshed out of his mind, which almost puts Ben at ease. Because maybe Steve won’t remember this encounter, and he only needs to hang around for a minute. Like he still lives here.

“H-Hi, Dad,” he manages to get out, nearly choking on the word “Dad” because it couldn’t be further from the truth on how he feels about this man. His teeth chatter even though it’s summer, and please, he thinks. Please let him get out of here. Please. He shouldn’t have done this.

Why is he such a fucking idiot?

Their stuff could’ve waited.

Hell, they could’ve lived forever without it.

There’s anger brewing in Steve’s expression, and Ben’s hands tremble as he tries to steady his breathing. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Steve steps forward, and he nearly loses it right then and there. Yep. He’s going to throw up. “Where’ve you been, boy?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and Ben gulps. His heart thumps relentlessly, and, seriously, he needs to puke.

“U-Um... I...”

“What? I can’t hear you,” he says, and it sends chills down Ben’s spine. “You and your sister been gone for a few months now.”

He nods, but he literally has no idea what to say. What he’s supposed to say.

“So why is that? This house not good enough for the two of you?”

Ben shakes his head. “N-No, sir. It’s... It’s great. We’ve been busy. I-I got a-a job, and Steph made a bunch of new friends at school, a-and...”

But it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters when it comes to Steve.

Because, somehow Ben finds himself pressed against the bedroom wall, blow after blow slamming into him.

~

_August 17, 1992_

“S-Steph,” he whispers, entering Leslie’s bedroom as quietly as possible. His eyes eventually adjust to the dark, and he can spy her in her usual spot on the air mattress, curled up beneath the blankets and snoring peacefully. He can’t. He can’t do this. Ben drops to the carpet, pulling his knees up to his chest and trying his best not to freak out.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

But the blood on his jeans is the best proof he has that it is, and this can’t keep going on.

He’s going to have to rip off the Band-Aid.

He glances up at Leslie’s bed from his position on the ground and tries to smile, but fails. Because she is beautiful and has always been there for him, and he can’t... He really really can’t. He let himself get to a point where he was comfortable with his life, and this is what happens. He’s been trying to convince himself that it’s just a nightmare for hours now, but one too many punches to the face blew that idea right out of the water and smacked him into reality.

A reality where he is forced to live with a monster.

A reality where Steph wakes up and goes to bed afraid.

A reality that doesn’t include Marlene or Leslie.

A reality that leaves him doomed.

“Steph,” he tries again, but his tongue feels cracked, coated in lead and blood. He shakes her shoulder, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks, and his breath catches in his knotted throat. “Steph, please. We gotta go.”

“What?” she mumbles. “Ben, go back to sleep.” She tries to roll over and cuddle back into the pillows, but he stops her.

“I’m serious, Steph. We gotta go.”

She groans. “What do you mean? It’s only, like, one AM or something.”

Ben pulls at her arm, he knows he shouldn’t, but he does it anyway. Because, they need to get out of here before Steve finds out he left. Of course, it’ll be rather obvious when Steph returns with him, but he figures (hopes) Steve’’ll be too fucking drunk to remember. He wants so so so extremely badly to leave his sister here. Or tell her to run away but then run back and live with Marlene and Leslie. He wants to let her have a good life, but he can’t. Because Steve threatened to kill them both if they didn’t return. He doesn’t know why.

Ben doesn’t know why. He doesn’t. Why does he even want them?

“What’s going on?” he hears Leslie mumble from her bed.

No. No no no. No.

Not this. He can’t handle this.

“We’re leaving,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like him. Not even in the slightest.

Leslie sits up, flipping on her bedside lamp. “What do y–” But she stops cold in her words. “Ben, what happened to your face?”

He shakes his head. “Not important. C’mon, Steph.”

His sister shakes her head, tears swelling in her eyes. “N-No. I don’t wanna go back there, Ben!”

“We don’t have a choice,” but it comes out lifeless and cold, and he just... He needs to leave.

He felt the same way when he was at Steve’s.

“Ben, what’s going on?” Leslie asks frantically. Ben stands on disastrously shaky legs and grabs Steph’s backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. “You have to talk to me. Why are you leaving in the middle of the night? How does Steve even know where you are?”

“Because I went to get some of Steph’s stuff, my stuff. Didn’t think he’d be there.”

“And he’s making you go back?” she questions. “No. No way. That’s ridiculous!”

“Look, Leslie, I don’t have much of a choice here. We’re his kids.” He glances down at Steph, extending out his hand. “We gotta go, Steph. I-I k-know. I don’t wanna go back either, but we don’t have any other options.”

Tears flow freely from Steph’s eyes, and she’s sobbing when she grabs his hand with her clammy one. He instantly envelops her in a hug, rubbing her back and whispering that “everything’ll be okay,” even though he knows it’s a lie. Nothing’s okay. Nothing ever will be again.

“B-Ben,” Steph cries, pleads against his chest. “P-Please.”

He doesn’t have words. He just stares at Leslie through the eye that’s not as swollen. He can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t do this. But he has to. He feels tears leaking down his own cheeks as he turns around with Steph still wrapped protectively in his arms. He doesn’t look back.

Can’t look back.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to BenjisCoolTimes and fourthinobesity for looking over this for me! :)

_August 22, 1992_

He can’t breathe.

Can’t breathe. Can’t.

He inhales shakily, but there’s a massive lump stuck in his sore throat. And fuck. Stop. Breathe. Take a breath. Try. Try to focus on something else. He attempts to envision complicated math problems, but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to solve them. He drops his head back into the toilet and heaves. Heaves for everyone he’s ever broken apart just by living. Just by being here on this earth. Heaves for Leslie and Marlene and especially Steph.

Doesn’t even know if he has it in his psyche to pull himself together, to string along some kind of elaborate charade that he can actually function. Because he hasn’t gotten out of bed other than to puke or cook for Steph and Steve in four and a half days. Doesn’t even know why he’s here. What’s the purpose? What’s the point? Why the hell did Steve want them back? Why isn’t he at Marlene’s? Why can’t he turn back time and never ever ever come back here again?

Stupid. He’s a stupid fucking moron who fucked everything up with one decision.

And he must’ve been really naïve to think that this could never happen. No. He was so swallowed up in a good world with good people where good things typically occur that he forgot about this. It nagged at the base of his skull for months, but living here is like living in a nightmare, engrossed in a reality where nothing goes right, so it’s not like he could entirely remove it from his brain. Because Steve’s still his father, and there’s no taking that back.

“Ben?” he hears from the other side of the battered door. And he doesn’t know why Steph talks to him. Shouldn’t she be angry? Shouldn’t she want nothing to do with him? But no. She often sits in his room on the floor reading his Lord of the Rings novels or staring at one of their four TV channels. He ruined her life. Soiled it. It’ll never be the same. Should’ve left her at Leslie and Marlene’s. Should’ve done something different. “Are you okay?”

He continues to let his head hang near the murky water. Nothing but bile anyway. Hasn’t eaten. Each time he thinks about Leslie kills him, but he can’t stop thinking about her. Beautiful smile. Gorgeous hair. Supreme intelligence. Adorable giggle. Always there. And he left. He just left in the middle of the night without much of an explanation. They don’t have a phone, and he hopes Leslie wouldn’t dare come here. Really really hopes.

Leslie. He misses Leslie.

Why’d he have to screw everything up?

Tears pour down his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them away. Doesn’t try to pretend. Hide.

“Please open the door,” he hears his sister say.

But he doesn’t move. Can’t move.

~

_August 23, 1992_

“Leslie, you can’t stay in here forever,” her mom whispers, carding her fingers through her hair. It doesn’t help that Steph’s air mattress taunts her, and she just wants them both here, especially Ben. He’d tell her to calm down, not to worry, and that he’ll be alright. Except being around Steve proved to be so harmful, toxic to the Wyatt siblings, and, God, will she ever even see him again? She sobs into her pillow, pretending it’s Ben’s chest instead.

It’s been six days of hell and torture with little to no sleeping. What rest she gets comes from crying herself into oblivion. She hasn’t gone to work. Hasn’t really even left the bed. She can’t even grasp why this happened. They were so happy. All four of them. They were a family, but now they’re not. Steph was like her little sister, but now she’s not. Ben was her boyfriend, and... No. She can’t even think of that. Because he’s sweet and brilliant and perfect in every way imaginable, and how is she supposed to go on knowing what’s happening to him?

Knowing he’s being tortured?

Knowing he’s losing his grip on hope.

They had just put him back together again. Almost fully, at least. To where he spoke in complete sentences without being prompted. To where he finally stopped asking her mom if she’d like him to leave. To where he laughed and teased and poked and talked freely. To where he wasn’t miserable and having a pretty hard time convincing others he wasn’t.

She knows it wasn’t their “job” to do any of that. He doesn’t owe them anything. But she wants him back. She wants them both back.

“W-Why can’t we help them?” she questions in between her crying jags.

Her mom rubs her arm. “Honey, we did help them. It’s hard to when I know how adamant Ben is about not letting anyone separate him and Steph.”

Which she gets to an extent. If they called the cops, Ben and Steph would be placed in foster homes, and their dad may not even be thrown in jail. Would have to come up with solid, concrete proof. Not like that’d be hard. But they hold no “claim” to the Wyatt’s, and getting them in her custody without a life altering event occurring would be close to impossible.

But, still, she whimpers, “He could die. Steve could kill him.”

And, at the uttering of that phrase, she leans over the side of the bed and throws up.

~

_September 1, 1992_

“I need notebooks,” Steph tells him from his desk chair. “And pencils. Or pens. Which ever.”

He nods from his blanket cocoon, but makes no effort to speak. He bundles the comforter around his face and breathes into the fabric, effectively shielding his eyes in the process. His knee aches, and his eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of his skull, and his elbow kills. Needs to slow down. Needs to take a breather. Needs to go to sleep and never wake back up.

“So can we go shopping or something? Maybe, like, now?”

It’s not like he’s taking a vow of silence or anything; he just doesn’t have the desire to speak. He knows that this isn’t doing Steph any favors, and he’s being an especially fucking shitty, selfish big brother, but he can’t do this. He can’t lie anymore. He feels overwhelmingly numb and like nothing’s really wrong, but like everything is so fucking screwed up at the same time. He can barely breathe, and his chest constantly hurts.

He wants Leslie.

He shrugs, and his sister grabs a sheet of paper and a ridiculously old marker before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Can you at least write a response?”

Ben somehow manages to scrawl, “Maybe later.”

“Are you ever gonna talk to me again?”

But he doesn’t know what to say. Because he loves Steph to the moon and back, but he’s exhausted. So much more exhausted than what he’s ever felt in his entire meaningless, wasteful existence. Everything was so easy over at Leslie and Marlene’s; he didn’t have to stress, worry. Of course, it’s embedded into his nature, but he found himself able to take a step back and breathe. But, now, he can’t even answer simple questions or statements from his sister.

He’s useless. Absolutely useless.

~

_September 6, 1992_

“I don’t understand,” her precious sunflower says from beside her. “What happened between you and Ben? You guys were really close.”

Leslie shrugs, holding the polar bear shaped pillow close to her chin. “I dunno.”

But she does know, and it’s the very reason she hasn’t been talking much these days. She’s went back to work and shopped for school supplies and tried to act normally, but it’s hard. Because, honestly, it feels as though a large portion of her soul has been ripped away, torn into shreds. Because she figures she’ll see him at school in two days. If he’s even alive. Oh God. Please let him be okay. Please let him be in one piece. Please let him be okay.

It’s a lot to ask; she knows that.

And it’s super strange. Like, should she be this torn up about him? She knows in her gut that the answer is yes, but does Ben even feel the same way? Is there even a remote possibility he was using her and her mom to gain safety? No, right? No. That’s absolutely ridiculous. Guilt piles in her chest, and why aren’t they here? Her nerves are warped and fried, and Ben’s the only person who ever managed to get her to fully calm down and take apart the situation.

He’s not here.

So even talking to Ann, her best friend in the galaxy, is now painful.

And it’s only Sunday, and she’s super excited to see him on Tuesday.

What if he isn’t ready to see her?

And, seriously, what the frick happened? Are they alright?

There are so many questions she can’t compute a response for.

“I’ll kill him if he hurts you,” the gorgeous Ann Meredith Perkins states.

Leslie sniffles. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

~

_September 8, 1992_

It’s the first day of school, and Ben’s thrown up three times since he rolled out of bed.

He’s not sick (or at least he doesn’t think he is). But the idea, inkling, that he’ll see Leslie again is enough to send his anxieties into massive overdrive. Doesn’t matter that he’s fairly sure she hates his guts and never wants to speak to him again. But he owes her an explanation. Marlene too. He has a plan that will hopefully help him accomplish these goals.

Except he hasn’t spoken a word to anyone, other than Steve to answer direct questions and/or orders, in almost a month.

He’s not up to working order, but that’s okay. At least seeing her will help. For some reason, even if this ultimately ends their relationship, being in her presence is enough. Because he’s never met anyone in his life like Leslie Knope. She’s kind and caring and passionate, and she’s always on the look out to brighten his day. Not being able to see her, touch her, hold her, feel her pressed against him has put kind of a big damper on his day to day activities.

“Wow, you’re up,” Steph says with her eyebrows raised as she enters his room. “And actually dressed.”

He nods, but he doesn’t offer anything else; he continues shoveling the notebooks from last year into his ratty backpack. Speak. He’s going to have to do it at some point during the day. But, every time he thinks about trying, his mouth goes completely dry, and what’s the point? Nothing he could ever have to say would mean anything, change anything. Yeah, he guesses that sounds pretty pity party-ish, and he really shouldn’t think that way, but it’s sometimes hard not to.

“So you’re sticking with the silent thing? How’s that gonna work?”

He clears his throat and decides to try to pull himself out of it. “I guess it’s not...”

Steph instantly embraces him, and when did she grow up this much? Shit. She’s seriously only a couple inches shorter than him, and she’s three years younger. What’s happening? But he hugs her back stiffly with only one arm, not exactly in the mood to be touched. Plus, his left elbow’s not much more than a mar of purple and blue bruises that itch for some strange reason. And, also, he’s using that hand to hold up his jeans, so there’s that too.

“I’ve been waiting forever to hear your voice,” she whispers before adding, “Wow, that sounded super creepy.”

Ben shrugs. “No worries. Ready for the first day of eighth grade?”

~

She waits.

It’s 7:38 AM, and first period starts at 7:50, and her heart’s about to explode. She clenches the straps of her backpack, biting her lower lip and secretly wishing she didn’t chug down that can of Pepsi right before she got here. She’d downed it in the parking lot, knee bouncing up and down as she tried to compose herself. Because she hasn’t seen Ben in twenty-two days, and she spent an extra long time on her hair, and why is she making this seem so physical?

Sure, yeah, it’s definitely physical, but it’s not all about that. She’s genuinely worried and excited and elated and nervous at the same time. He means so much to her, and she can’t stand not being around him. This isn’t a normal situation, and, trust her, she’s almost called the cops, like, roughly eight times a day for the last twenty-two days, but she never has. She’s had 911 wreaking havoc in her mind and itching at her fingertips and torturing her.

But Ben would just get taken away, and she’d never see him again.

She doesn’t even know his schedule. She tried really hard to get Nancy in the office to show her, but to no avail.

But that’s when she sees him.

And a ridiculously large knot forms in her throat as tears spill down her face. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t care. Ben’s in front of her, and he’s real and still alive. Immediately, he wraps his arms around her, and she breathes, actually finally breathes, against his chest, her entire body wracked in almost violent trembles. He kisses her hair, and she feels him shake too. And it’s perfect. They’re a mess, a very hot mess, but it’s way more than she could ever ask for.

Because, suddenly, there’s a familiar scent filling her nostrils, and her lips are on his, and she’s dead to the world around her.

Ben. Ben Wyatt. Benjamin Franklin Wyatt. He’s here. And he’s okay.

Tears stream down her cheeks, but he wipes them away once they pull apart. No, it doesn’t matter that people are full on staring and rooting in the background and being generally obnoxious pigs. What matters is that he’s here. He’s here. And that makes all the difference.

“I missed you,” she whispers, and he just tugs her against him.

~

They don’t have first, second, or third period together this year.

And it’s almost enough to drive Ben absolutely insane. Because they shared over half their classes in their junior year, but now it takes three agonizing hours to see her again. They don’t talk much, though. He holds her hand, and she hangs all over him when they’re in the hallway. But at least they’re lab partners in Chemistry, and he doodles kiss monsters in her notebook.

It’s like they’re picking up where they left off.

Except everything’s horrifyingly different, and he doesn’t feel like the same person anymore.

He guesses she’s his girlfriend still, but he doesn’t ask.

And, yeah, maybe he hasn’t spoken an actual word to her.

Like at all.

Because he’s terrible and awful and yada yada yada.

But it’s not weird or awkward or uncomfortable. It’s almost as if they don’t even need to speak. Leslie probably formulated her own opinions about what happened, and shit. How is this even going to work? Obviously, she doesn’t hate him. Or he’s not getting the impression she does. But how is this fair to her? He’s just supposed to walk in and out of her life when it’s most convenient for him? He’s just supposed to not speak to her in hopes everything will go back to the way it was? No.

And sitting in Chemistry class and drawing kiss monsters is what prompts these thoughts.

He can’t do this to her. He can’t be there for her. He can’t be anything. He isn’t anything.

There’s no logical reason for him to drag her down. He’s a fucking mess, and Steph called him out on it this morning. And pretty much everyday since they went back home. He misses Leslie and Marlene and wants nothing more than to sip on that “normal life” he experienced for a blissful, peaceful few months. There’s no going back now, though.

He has to do the unthinkable.

~

Ben doesn’t say a word to her. Not a single fricking word.

And, somehow, she couldn’t care less.

Because he’s living and breathing and here and right in front of her own two eyes.

He definitely doesn’t look like himself, but it’s okay (not really, but she’s not in a good enough mental place to nitpick too much). Deep, dark, seemingly permanent purple smudges accent his bloodshot, droopy eyes. He’s always been tiny, but his shoulders are bonier, and his chin is more angular, and his cheekbones are sunken in. She tries not to pay attention to the way he holds his jeans up with one hand almost constantly or that he’s limping.

Should that be happening? No, right? The answer to that should be no.

But she ignores it. “I’m guessing you have to pick Steph up?”

He nods slightly.

She entwines their fingers and doesn’t acknowledge how his hand’s shaking or how he flinches at each touch. “And I’m also guessing you can’t come over? Of course, you’re both more than welcome. Maybe we could eat dinner or watch a mo–”

But Ben stops her there, shuffling his feet and closing his locker. “I... I can’t.” He takes in a disastrously trembly breath. “Leslie, we can’t do t-this.”

“Do what?”

He gestures weakly to both of them. “T-This. I’m... Not good for you,” he says so quietly she has to lean in to hear him.

“Ben, what’re you talking about? Of course you’re good for me. You’re great for me. Whatever happened is okay. I’m happy you’re here and alright, and I just want to be with you. Even if we only have school, and you can never hang out with me in public again.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t possibly want that for yourself.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “You can’t tell me what I want.”

He nods, biting his lip and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Very fair point. But... I’m a disaster, Leslie. You know it, and I know it. I swear I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me or whatever; it’s the truth. You deserve... so much more than what I can offer you. I-I don’t have a car or a phone or even a way to see you. Don’t you want more than that?”

But she shakes her head and instantly tries to hug him, touch him, reach out to him in some way that maybe he can understand. Instead, though, he gently doesn’t accept any of those things; he backs up, gulping and staring at the tiled ground below, and her stomach drops to her toes. She’s been waiting twenty-two days to see him, and she never once figured this is what he wants. And tears swell in her eyes, and she doesn’t try to hide them.

“I want you, Ben,” she says.

He shakes his head. “You need more than me. You deserve more than this. Look, this is fucking killing me, but I think it’s what’s best for you.”

“You don’t get to just make that decision for me,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I-I know. I’m... Sorry. I’m sorry. I know this is going terribly, and I’m to blame for that, but try to be reasonable.”

Her eyes widen. “Try to be reasonable? Are you kidding me? You’re breaking up with me over some blows to your ego. Well, newsflash: I like you for you. And I’m okay with whatever baggage that comes with because you’re worth it.”

“They aren’t just blows to my ego, Leslie. What am I supposed to do, huh? Take care of Steph, find a way to put food on the table, make sure Steve doesn’t fucking murder one of us while we’re sleeping, and this?” he asks, referring to the two of them. Standing here. In this hallway. On the, now, second worst day of her entire life. Because all he’s seeing is the bad and won’t even give another glance at the good.

Leslie gently rubs his arm, and he grows paler and paler as the moments pass. “You’re my family. You and Steph both are. Stop being unreasonable.”

But all Ben does is eye her and pull away again. “I’m not being unreasonable. I’m being logical. This. Will. Not. Work. Don’t you get that? I’ll ruin your entire life. You’ll be worried sick, and I won’t be able to stay away from you. The longer this goes on, the harder it is. We may as well just cut our losses now.” He quickly glances down at his watch that sags off his wrist. “Shit. Fuck. Look, I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry, but I have to go.”

He shoulders his backpack, but she makes one more attempt to stop him, to knock some sense into him. “Ben, no. Please wait. I –”

Ben doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn back.

~

It’s not much, but it’s all he has.

He recounts the bills before shakily placing them in a crumpled envelope he found in his desk.

$554.

He’s so far away from the number he needs to be at, but it’s a start. He’ll find a way to get the rest.

But then he quickly exchanges out the envelope when a speck of red splatters on the whiteness. Shit. Fuck. Really? He places a tissue beneath his nose and groans, tilting his head back. Tries not to think about Leslie. Homework. He should do homework. But there wasn’t any, and he’s already three chapters ahead in each subject. Maybe he’ll focus on Spanish instead.

Or read The Fellowship of the Ring for the twelfth time.

Anything but remember.

Because all he has to do is slip this into her backpack tomorrow, and it’ll be done.

That’s it.

~

She’s going to find a way to make it right.

It’s her goal, and Leslie Knope always accomplishes her goals.

Because Ben’s always been the one to ground her, calm her.

And now she needs to figure out a way for him to see that they’re at least supposed to be friends.

Okay, come on. Obviously, she wants more than that, but one step at a time.

She’s going to reverse the hell out of this break up.

Just wait and see.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BenjisCoolTimes, fourthinobesity, and SakuraBlossomStorm for looking over this for me! :)

_September 9, 1992_

He wakes up the next morning with Steve standing over him, screaming directly in his face with an undeniable, unbelievable guilt brewing in his gut. Because he stupidly ended things with Leslie, but she’s the only one who could make this tolerable. Yeah, he guesses that sounds utterly pathetic, but she’s Leslie Knope. She makes him laugh when it’s almost entirely too painful to do so. She always goes for her dreams, and she’s super passionate about everything she touches.

Everything about her makes him want to do better, be better.

But he knows he can’t expect that out of himself because he’s barely hanging on as it is.

He’s never contemplated actually ending his life until last night. When the full, unaltered reality of what he’d done smashed into him, he doubled over the rusty toilet and heaved violently, only then to be struck with the idea of, “What would happen if I wasn't here anymore?” It’s such a pathetic, overly pessimistic, depressing, pitying question he knows he definitely shouldn’t be pondering. He can’t even think about what would happen to Steph if he weren’t around.

But what the hell is he going to do when she goes off to college? What’s his purpose then? He figures it’s probably stay here and be Steve’s punching bag until the end of his existence. Of course, he wouldn't want to leave Steph alone even when she goes to university. But he found himself staring at the razor on the sink and thought. Really thought.

He quickly dismantles those ideas, though, because no. Just no.

Now, he drags himself off the lumpy mattress and scratches the back of his head as his socked feet hit the floor. And there’s just this steaming pile of nothing that courses through his broken veins that seems to grow larger and larger, and he echoes back to staring at that razor like it’s his only lifeline. Because he fucked everything up with Leslie, and he’s basically a human disaster.

Why should he care anymore?

But he does, and it’s so incredibly frustrating. It’s like a part of him won’t shut the fuck up and really listen. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near Steve in any capacity. He wants to run away and never look back. He wants Steph to be safe and happy. But, most of all, he wants to move on from this because he’s not sure how much longer he can stay here. It’s ruining him, and it’s disgustingly intolerable at this point.

He just doesn’t know if there’s a way out. Or if he just lost his best chance.

~

Ben needs to slip the envelope into Leslie’s backpack somehow, but it’s kind of hard to. Because she’s been oddly chipper and cheery all morning and continues to chat with him as they walk to separate classes, even though he doesn’t really speak back. Because it’s like stabbing at a gaping, bleeding, wildly ripped open wound, and he shouldn’t be here. The desire to crawl in a hole and never resurface sounds so enticing that he almost leaves school during third period.

Because if he makes it past that hour, he knows he’ll have to actually interact with her. He’s nauseous enough to make a pit stop by the bathroom, collapsing to his knees and doing his typical business before anyone hears him. He splashes his face with cold water and white knuckles the sink and prays for an easy end to all of this.

And it’s the first time he’s wished that and meant it. Really meant it.

There’s a sharp pain nipping at the base of his skull as he enters the classroom. Leslie waves him over to their lab table, but he opts to sit at an empty one near the door instead. It’s only the second day of school, so he doesn’t have to worry about stealing someone else’s seat; he’s pretty sure no one even remembers where they were sitting anyway. He doesn’t bother glancing behind him. Doesn’t bother to check her facial expressions for approval or disapproval. It shouldn’t matter to him anymore.

But there’s a poke in his back, and he turns in time to see Leslie plop down beside him.

An uncomfortable tension builds in his gut, and he barely has the fortitude not to bolt out of here.

Why are passing periods so long?

“So we’re not lab partners anymore?”

He shrugs, trying but failing to give her a sign of... something. But he doesn’t know what that “something” should be. “I’m sorry...”

“Did I do something wrong?” she questions seriously.

Ben swallows thickly and rubs the back of his neck. “N-No.”

He isn’t quite up to speed with words yet, so that certainly doesn’t help his case. It’s not that he doesn’t have anything to say; it’s just that nothing he says ever gets him anywhere. Sure, he’ll engage in brief conversations with Steph, but they usually sit in a mostly comfortable silence filled with TV and homework and book reading. And he always immediately answers Steve. He’s pretty positive his elbow’s broken from not responding the last time.

“You can still be friends with me, you know,” she says. “Even if you don’t want to be in a relationship.”

“That isn’t what I want. Honestly. I... want to be w-with you,” he manages to get out. “But it’s never going to work.” He seizes this opportunity presented in front of him and reaches into his backpack, pulling out the envelope. “Here. It’s not much, but it’s all I have right now. You can tell your mom that she’ll get the rest eventually. I’m sorry it’s not more.”

Leslie peaks inside it, and her face goes entirely pale. He gulps, and her eyebrows rise before she shoves it back in his hands, standing up from her seat. “No. No way. What is this even for?”

He shrugs because, good lord, the reasons are long and extensive. “For the surgery. For feeding us. For taking us in.”

“She’ll never accept this, Be–”

But, just as she says this, the warning bell rings, and Andy Dwyer enters the room. “Dude, wanna be lab partners?” he shouts at Ben.

He nods quickly, shyly, and Leslie marches angrily back to her spot.

~

The grocery store is so crowded that he almost turns right around with Steph in tow and abandons the mission. Somehow, Steve scrounged up $47, threw it in Ben’s face (insert unnecessary reason here), and told him to go shopping for actual food. He’d been in the middle of reading his Spanish IV textbook, already in sweats and buried beneath his comforter with Steph curled up at the end his bed, thumbing through her soccer camp scrapbook (which kills him; he wishes he could turn back the clock on a per-second basis).

There are way too many people, and Ben’s heart pounds wickedly, and his head spins as he clutches on to the shopping cart handle. He’s semi thankful he wore these black drawstring sweatpants that he is able to situate around his waist so he doesn’t constantly have to tug them back up. He can’t really unbend his left elbow at this point, and he’s trembling from the briskness of the dairy aisle as his sister sulks past the ice cream without a single word, even though they both have the same affinity for Rocky Road.

“Are you not talking again?” she asks quietly as Ben grabs a gallon of milk with a wince.

He forces himself to make eye contact with her (because human emotions are important). “I’m talking. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets. “I just wanted to make sure. You haven’t spoken to me yet today.”

And it’s another punch in the gut for him. His stomach clenches and unclenches, and he wants to wrap her in a hug, to promise her that everything’s alright, but he doesn’t have that in him right now. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever retain the ability to do that again. He lived a lie for so fucking long and got away from it only to have it shoved back in his face. It’s complicated and twisted now more than ever, and it’s affecting his relationship with Steph.

Steph. His younger sister. He changed her diapers. He read stories to her every night until she turned ten (and he still used to periodically up until Steve re-entered their lives). He’s been a human shield for her on more than one simple occasion, and now he can’t even muster the courage to interact. Because interacting means talking and talking means feeling and feeling means remembering and remembering means thinking of Leslie. Dreaming of Leslie. Dreaming of what could’ve been before he ruined every single fucking thing for both of them. For all three of them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, clearing his throat. “It’s... hard.”

She nods and doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t have to. Steph’s always been the one person who understands him.

They round the corner of the cereal aisle, and Ben’s not sure how much longer he can hold it together in here. People keep brushing against him. There are so many germs in here. And he needs to puke before his heart constricts and his brain swells, and he dies.

“Okay, what do we need?” his sister asks.

He gulps, shakily giving her the sloppy list he’d written while Steve was screaming at him.

“I’ll go get the bread and canned stuff so we can get out of here faster.”

He nods, swallowing harshly when she pats his back; he tries hard not to flinch.

Ben starts to speed down the aisles even though he doesn’t have a whole lot of energy or pep in his step, quickly placing items in the cart and trying to regulate his breathing. He’s making his way through the soda and chip department when he spies an all too familiar person, and panic rises up his throat, threatening to make a grand exit on the tiled floor.

Marlene.

Which means Leslie.

Which means he needs to get out of here.

He’s in the process of turning around the cart single handedly when he hears his name. He sheepishly waves at her and tries to mask his growing frown with a smile. It’s not exactly her typical, normal style he grew accustomed to, but she wraps her arms around him, hugging him and pulling him close. He doesn’t hug back, even though it’s the most comforting thing he’s felt in almost an entire month. But he won’t let himself go back to that place ever again.

“You’re skin and bones, Ben,” she points out a tad harsher than he’d like to acknowledge. “Have you been eating?”

He nods, but unconvincingly so; he just wants to get out of here. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m gonna cut right to the chase here, okay?” she says, and he nods in response because maybe it’ll let him get home and puke peacefully. “Do you guys need help?”

His eyebrows scrunch. His pulse picks up. His palms sweat.

“W-What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to call the police, Ben? We can get you out of that house and somewhere safe.”

He instantly shakes his head. “No. We’re okay.”

Even though he’d much rather just not deal with the legalities and come live with Marlene and Leslie.

“I know you’re not. I know neither of you are. Why don’t we just cut the crap once and for all?”

He glances down at his shoes, and where the hell is Steph? Is she even alright?

“Honey, you aren’t eating. You aren’t sleeping. And Leslie told me what happened between you two.” And then Marlene pulls something out of her purse, and his stomach drops to his toes. She hands the envelope back to him, but all he can do is continue to look at the floor. “I don’t want your money. I don’t need reimbursement because you think you and Steph caused me trouble or financial issues. And I certainly don’t need you to feel guilty about that surgery.”

Ben scratches his neck, and Marlene puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. He immediately jolts and tries to pull back, but her grip is firm, strong. Not like she wants to hurt him. Not like she wants to yell in his face for hours on end. But like she cares. Like she wants to help both of them, and he knows she does. But he’s past the point of saving.

He wants to ask if Marlene will just take Steph, but he knows that would never ever work. Even though Steve doesn’t really even notice his daughter that much when she’s there, he always knows when she’s gone. But maybe it’d be worth it for both of them if Steph left. Steve would probably murder Ben or whatever, but it’d mean something, even if only a little something, for his sister to be happy and safe and be able to move on with her life.

Ben’s still working out the kinks; he doesn’t know what he’s going to do yet.

“You can always come to me, Ben,” she says. “With whatever you guys need. We’re still here for you.”

He nods and stumbles backward, gripping his right hand harshly around the cart handle. “T-Thank you,” is all he managers to muster, even though there’s so much more he wants to say. Needs to say.

“You’re welcome. Wrap up your arm or something, will you?” she tells him, motioning to the injured appendage.

“I will.”

He won’t, but it’s better to give her the impression he still remotely cares about what happens to him.

“Take care, Ben.”

He summons the strength to give her a half smile. “You too.”

And he promptly sprints to the bathroom to throw up once she’s out of sight.

~

_September 10, 1992_

“Can I sit here?” Leslie asks, gesturing to the entire open table in front of her. Because it’s lunchtime, and he usually hides out in the library, but it’s closed today for whatever reason. He can hardly keep his eyes open, so staring at his textbooks becomes harder and harder the more time passes. He isn’t sure if he should be happy for a distraction or confused because he thought Leslie got the picture; they shouldn’t hang out together anymore.

But he finds himself shrugging before returning his half-attention back to the book. She sits and squirms closer, until their knees touch, and he gulps. She smells so pretty, and her hair’s bouncy and lively, and she’s gorgeous, as always. But it’s not just the obvious physical attraction that gets him going. In fact, that’s very little of what he feels toward her. Yes, she’s beautiful, but he’s never met a person so passionate and strong and wonderful as her.

And that makes this so much harder. Because he wants to be with her. Because he wants her by his side until the end of time. It’ll never work, though. It never will. He can’t let himself get too close again. He knows what happens. It was nice, forming a meaningful connection with another human being that isn’t his own sister, but he’s not cut out for that. He doesn’t know if he’s cut out for anything actually, but he supposes that’s a different concept to tackle for another day.

“Want to split a soda? Maybe some fries?” she asks.

And their knees are still touching.

And he’s trying not to panic.

He shakes his head, placing his head in his right hand to try and wait this out. There’s only fifteen minutes of lunch left. Fifteen minutes. He can make it fifteen minutes. Or he can run out of here and never look back. He doesn’t know why he tortures himself with the public education system daily anyway; it’s not like he’s going to actually do something with his life.

“So this is how it’s gonna be?” Leslie asks with a slight huff.

Ben sighs. “’m sorry...”

He feels like that’s all he says any time he speaks.

“Don’t be sorry, Ben. How about you talk to me? We could go to the mall and walk around. Or to the movies. I know we can’t talk in there, but it’ll be fine. Steph can go too, of course. I know how important it is that she’s there,” Leslie says. And she sounds like she’s rambling to him because, yes, this goes on for several more moments, and he’s making the biggest effort he can not to muster the strength to tell her to shut up for a few seconds.

Because he can’t. He can’t do this. He’s been living with himself and Steve his entire life, and he’s sick of being disgusted every time he looks in the mirror. And he never wants Leslie to gain enough knowledge about him to pinpoint it. He’s so exhausted, and she has to realize that this isn’t helping. He wants to be with her, and it’s killing him to be without her, but none of this would be fair to her, and she doesn’t deserve to be with someone as awful as he is.

She’s perfect, and he doesn’t want to ruin her.

“I guess that’s a no to my suggestions then?” she questions. “Do you have any ideas?”

He shrugs, scrubbing his hand down his face and looking at her. “Leslie, please stop.”

“Stop what?”

He exhales shakily. “Stop trying to fix this... Us.”

“I thought you wanted to be with me, Ben,” she tells him seriously. “I... really like you, and not having you around is the worst.”

He nods. “I know. It is the worst, but I can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Leslie says, unexpectedly moving forward and nipping at his ear.

But he shrugs her off instantly. “What? No. Leslie, stop, okay?”

And he stands up on disastrously shaky legs, grabbing his backpack and books without so much as turning around.

~

He goes home that afternoon and locks himself in his room.

Well, no. He’s not exactly a normal teenager, so that doesn’t happen. He can’t lock the door and pretend all hell isn’t breaking loose. He can’t lock the door and not notice that Steve’s bashing TVs and windows and vases. He can’t lock the door and drown out the pleads to open up from his sister. He’s not granted that luxury. Is it a luxury? He’s not really sure, but oh well because it’ll never happen for him, and he just has to embrace it.

But he does lie facedown on his bed, not even bothering to get under the covers even though he’s shivering horribly. He screws his eyes shut and wills his mind to calm down, to relax, to believe everything will be okay. Because Leslie basically made a pass at him, and that’s not okay. That’s not what he wants out of her. Granted, he can’t lie and say he’s never thought about it with her, but it’s not what he’s looking for. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for at this point.

Tears find a way to spill over and stream down his cheeks, soaking into his pillow. It’s only a few before they’re completely dried up, but he sniffles and tries to regain his composure regardless. It’s only 3:30, but Steve wants steak for dinner tonight, which means he’ll be manning a grill and the stove for hours, so he might as well take this time to rest while he can.

But nothing lasts for very long around here, especially peace.

There’s a knock at his door, but he doesn’t have the strength to move; Steve’ll barge in and yank him out of bed if need be.

But it’s obviously Steph because there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder; he internally cringes at the contact. “You alright?”

He nods, but he doesn’t offer anything else.

Instead of questioning him any further, Steph softly pulls a blanket crumpled near the end of the mattress over him and leans down to kiss his cheek.

“It’ll be okay, Benji. Just lay here for a while. I’ve got this.”

~

_September 14, 1992_

Ben hasn’t seen Steve in since Thursday night.

He has no idea where he went, but it’s been two entire days of blissfulness, and it’s driving him mad. Because he doesn’t know when he’ll show back up and make everything miserable. Ben refuses to let himself get to that place where he’s comfortable, so he cleans the house from top to bottom. He dusts and vacuums and washes literally all of Steve’s clothes. He cooks six meals in advanced, goes to the complete opposite store of which he saw Marlene at last week, and makes sure Steph gets all of her homework done.

None of that makes him feel better.

In fact, the uncertainty makes him leery to a point where wakes up Monday morning unable to get out of bed.

And it’s not an exaggeration.

He physically can’t move. His elbow is entirely locked, and his knee feels numb, but his head’s nothing but mush. He wants to roll on to his side, but even thinking about that simple movement is enough to cause him to cower in the covers even more. Because he’s positive it’s almost time for school because he can hear Steph scurrying around and getting ready, but he’s in sweatpants and a ridiculously oversized flannel and can’t even contemplate going there.

“Hey,” Steph says with a slight knock before she enters. Because now Steve gives him shit for closing the door, so he leaves it open. “You getting up?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Are you sick?”

He doesn’t know the answer to that, so he just doesn’t respond.

Steph sits on the edge of the mattress, resting her fingers on his cheek. “Okay. Yeah. You are. Um...” And she instantly stands back up, pacing the room. Oh boy. Sometimes, he forgets that they’re siblings, and she’s actually a lot more like him than he’d like to realize. Because, while she fakes confidence much better than him, she struggles with this building form of anxiety she can’t turn off. So, when things like this happen that are out of her control, she spirals. Fast. She’s only thirteen. So young and smart and courageous, and Ben has no idea why he’s even thinking of this right now, but Steph’s struggling, so he finds a way to haul himself into a sitting position.

“Take a breath,” he tells her. “I’m fine.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and his lower back feels like it’s been lit with a blowtorch, and the air in the room singes his skin. Strong. Needs to be strong. He can go to school. He can totally go to school. He’s gone in much worse conditions than this, and he’s not really sure he’s sick. It’s probably psychological. He’s having a hard time, and it’s manifesting in his body. Yeah. Smart. That’s reasonable, logical. Yeah. That’s probably right.

“No,” Steph says suddenly. “I’m not going to let you do this to yourself anymore. You’re going to stay home and take some time to feel better. Maybe eat something while you’re at it. And some ice. You need ice.”

Ben shakes his head and wants to refuse all of what she just said, but he’s so tired. So so tired. And he finds himself lying back down as Steph takes care of him. For the first time. Ever. Yeah, she’s tried to comfort him and such, but this is the first time in his existence where the roles are reversed. Because he’s the one who cleans up the messes. He’s the one who does the shopping. He’s the one who cooks the meals. He’s the one that’s the human shield (and, trust him, things may be changing at the moment, but this is one thing that’ll never go away).

Steph’s growing up, and that somehow makes him feel awful and better at the same time.

So she wheels in the TV from her bedroom and leaves crackers and juice on his bedside table and forces him to take medicine (even though he spits it out the second she leaves to get a baggy of ice covered in an old towel to put on his elbow). It’s super weird and strange, and he isn’t overly fond of this useless sensation that seems to keep following him around.

Because he knows the truth, and now Steph’s even accenting the signs.

He is useless.

He’s useless, and he’ll never go anywhere else other than here. And, yeah, he knows that sounds super pity-ish, but it’s true. He doesn’t like that he’s thinking that about himself, that this is how he perceives his conscious mind, but it’s true. He’ll be stuck here with Steve for the rest of his meaningless life, and Steph will go on to be a rockstar athlete and help kids like she’s always wanted to, and Leslie will go on to change the world one park at a time.

But it’s knowing that he’ll never amount to anything that stings the most.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A massively huge thank you to BenjisCoolTimes, fourthinobesity, and SakuraBlossomStorm for looking over this chapter for me! You guys are the bomb dot com!

_September 14, 1992_

Ben doesn’t show up for school.

She waits for him to enter their Chemistry class during fourth period, bouncing her heel up and down and chewing on her nails. He’s always here. He’s never late. Even when he’s very badly hurt or supremely exhausted or just barely holding it together, he takes pride in having perfect attendance like her. Leslie feels her walls crumble and come crashing down as that pit in her stomach forms. This is it. Ben’s dead. His dad killed him.

And, if he isn’t dead, something is very very wrong.

And it’s enough. That notion is enough to propel her into action. She asks Mr. Johnson for the hall pass without another care in the world. She can’t be here. She can’t do this. Because there’s a hole growing near her heart, and she’s being swallowed, eaten alive by fears, possibilities, potentials. Because anything could’ve happened. He could be beaten half to death, or maybe he finally starved himself into a coma, or his father could’ve ultimately snapped.

So she flees the building.

It’s class time, so no one notices. It’s a windy, chilly mid-September day. The sun isn’t even slightly peaking through the grey clouds, and Leslie frowns as she jogs to her car. Because the weather is already telling her that an awful even has occurred, and she’s nauseous and queasy and needs to find a way to drive faster without getting pulled over. These nerves twisting in her core are much worse than any almost scrapbook fiasco she’s ever encountered. It’s worse than when Ann broke her ankle while she was out of town in fifth grade. It’s worse than anything and everything.

What if he’s dead?

Tears stream down her cheeks, clouding her vision of the leave covered road. She swipes at her cheeks and tries to think positive thoughts she learned from her favorite motivation mixtape, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works. She keeps picturing Ben all black and blue and purple and lifeless and not breathing and gone. She hiccups and stomps on the gas pedal harder. Leslie’s only a few minutes away from his house, but it seems like it takes much longer than an eternity to get there.

And, to be extra cautious, she parks a block away.

And that’s this very well could be the day she meets Steve Wyatt. But, even though that’s one of her greatest fears, she’s going to face it head on in order to get some answers. She has to see if Ben’s okay, if he needs help, if he’s even alive. And, to be even safer, she climbs the nearly decrepit siding of the house instead of going through the front door. She knows exactly which room is his, even though she’s never actually seen it with her own two eyes. She hoists herself on to the windowsill and thanks God that she’s small and physically strong enough to do any of this.

The blinds are closed, but the window is cracked already, so all she has to do is open it the rest of the way and slide inside.

She sniffles and shakes off the dust and dirt, and her heart nearly pounds out of her chest when she sees Ben staring at her.

Instantly, she sprints over and wraps him in a hug hard enough to knock him back against his springy mattress. He has a pulse, and he’s breathing, and he’s alive. He’s here. Her skin touches his, and it’s so much more than perfect. It’s messy and inconvenient, but she’s never felt anything like this before. He makes her able to keep going, to keep plucking along wondering if she’ll ever get anywhere in life. He makes her feel special just by glancing in her direction.

She’s in love with him. And right now is the first time she’s ever admitted it to herself. Her soul immediately feels lighter, happier, when she thinks it because she’s convinced her mind for so long that it’s not true. That she’s young and stupid and naïve, and Ben really hurt her. That she can move on, live her life without him, but it’s such an incredible lie. She can’t go forward without him by her side, even if that means staying friends and shoving the romance into a closet to never be opened again.

Nothing is worth losing him.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, his voice muffled by her hair.

But he holds on to her regardless; he doesn’t even try to pull away.

“I...” She swallows thickly. “I-I didn’t know if you were okay...”

He squeezes slightly tighter. They’re both trembling all over, and they make no effort to move. It’s the first time she’s been wrapped up in his embrace is almost a month. It feels like it’s been ages since the last time he touched her, and she yearns for it. She wants nothing more than to forget the world, to be with him until the end of time, but this is probably their only actual moment of bliss, and she’s expecting the world to fall apart around them any second.

Ben doesn’t say a word in response to that, but he doesn’t have to. Instead, he shifts a little to where they’re both under the covers, spooning up behind her and nuzzling his face into her neck. She takes his hand and kisses the back of it sweetly, gently, and this is it.

This is so much more than perfect.

~

“Y-You shouldn’t be here,” Ben states a few hours later. He wound up falling asleep for a while, latched tightly around her as she if was his only lifeline. Now he’s awake, and sweat soaks his hair and drips into his eyes, and he just spent the last several minutes dry heaving into a miniature trashcan she handed him when his face went from ridiculously pale to absolutely green. “Steve could s-show up at any time, and I... I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He’s pacing enough to wear a hole in the hardwood floor. He’s burning with fever and more exhausted than she’s ever seen him, but he’s still walking around and trying to protect her. But that’s not what she needs. She needs Ben. She needs him to realize that she’s not going anywhere, that she loves him and wants to be near him any time that’s possible. She understands that things are different. They’re no longer basically living together, and he isn’t in the safety of her and her mother’s house. But it’s okay. That’s okay.

“Ben,” she says from her spot in his messy bed. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”

He eyes her, but then shakes his head. “No. You really should go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ben. Even if your dad comes back.”

“What?” he asks. “N-No. But – You don’t get it. He’ll...”

This time, she stands and stops him in his tracks with a hug. He tenses beneath her touch and ultimately backs away slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s then that she notices he’s using one hand to hold up his pajama pants, but he hasn’t so much as moved his left arm. She didn’t think anything of it at first because they were crossed over his chest during his pacing affair, and she definitely didn’t pay enough attention that much when she first got here.

“What happened to your arm?” she questions softly, gesturing to the appendage.

He glances down briefly but then looks back at her, gulping. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Can I see it?”

He shakes his head right away. “I’m okay, Leslie.”

She lets out a shaky breath and moves closer to him. She pretends not to feel him flinch as she gently takes his hand, guiding him to his bed. He flops down on the mattress, wincing and cringing and grumbling, and she takes a seat on the edge. His skin’s on fire, even through his long sleeved shirt, and he should really really be taking vitamins. Maybe she’ll recommend that to him later. “Why don’t you take another nap?” she suggests.

“Please... just go,” he whispers, and she doesn’t have to see his face to know there are tears sliding down his cheeks.

But she softly begins to rub his overheated back, sensing every tremble and jolt seizing its way through his body. He hiccups and smushes his face harder into the pillow, and Leslie tugs the comforter up to his chest area as she continues to knead out the knots. She isn’t going anywhere. She isn’t running. She isn’t giving up.

After all, how could she ever leave him?

~

Eventually, she ventures downstairs.

Ben told her he hasn’t seen Steve since Thursday night, so she isn’t too panicked, but there’s still bouts of worry flowing freely through her brain. He’s asleep, under the influences of NyQuil and her carding her fingers through his hair; he always rests easier that way. When he was staying at her house, she had to practically force his anxieties go down to a manageable level more than once, and she found out quickly that small, slight touches like that cause his heart to beat slower.

He needs to eat. His clothes barely fit, and he’s so tiny. The arm’s an entirely different story that she’ll have to conquer later. Because, trust her, she’ll get him to let her take care of it eventually. Maybe her mom can even help. But she tries to reel in those emotions and not get so caught up in the idea of making everything better because that’s impossible. She never ever wants Ben to think he’s alone. He’s not. He has people that love him and want to look out for him, even if it means that this is the only or last time she’s ever able to do it.

The house is small, but neat and organized. She can definitely tell that Ben’s the one who takes care of it. It’s not that Steph’s dirty, but she’s more cluttered like Leslie, even though she knows how spick and span everything needs to be for her best friend in the universe. She chuckles internally, remembering all those times her own mother left the laundry for Ben because he was just way better at doing it; he never once seemed to mind and always did the job with such care and diligence, and how exactly is he so amazing again?

Luckily, she finds a can of tomato soup in a cupboard. She gets a bowl, microwaving it carefully as she tries to leave zero trace that she was ever down here. She’s stirring the piping hot liquid when she hears footsteps behind her. Her heart drops to her toes. Her mind swims. She quivers and bites her lower lip and wants nothing more than to escape into a dark hole. Because this isn’t happening. Please tell her it isn’t Steve Wyatt that’s behind her.

“What’re you doing?”

But she knows that voice anywhere and lets out a major sigh of relief.

“You scared the crap out of me,” she says, managing to smile at Ben, who’s leaning against the kitchen wall. He doesn’t look any better, even after his nap.

He glances at the floor. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells him. “I made you some soup... Or, well, I microwaved it.”

He shakes his head, and his eyes are already almost closed again. “Thanks. Maybe later.”

“You should eat.”

But he seems extremely skeptical of that idea, and not being in the safety of his bedroom gives her the heebie-jeebies, so they head upstairs. Leslie balances the bowl of soup in one hand while she carefully grabs his with her other. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t squeeze on to it either. “What’re you gonna do when Steph gets home?” he asks quietly.

She sets the dish on his desk, looking at the alarm clock. It’s almost two in the afternoon. “I don’t know,” she says with a shrug.

“I think you should go. For real.”

“Ben, please, I –”

He shakes his head and stops her right there. “No. Leslie, you don’t get to make this decision, okay? I want to be with you so badly it hurts. Not able to hug or kiss you kills me every-fucking-day, and I want nothing more than for things to go back to how they used to be. But it’s over. That’s over. This is over.”

“I love you,” she tells him, so quickly she doesn’t even register it coming out of her mouth. It happens swiftly and all at once, and it’s too late to turn around now. “I love you, Ben. And I don’t care about all these 'extra complications.' Yes, I care that you’re basically being tortured and won’t let me help, but I’m not going to try to change that. I’m not going to try to change you. I want to be with you, not some made up version of yourself. But I know who the real Ben Wyatt is, and I’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ben rubs his forehead. “You don’t love me.” Tears swell in the corners of his eyes, and he points directly at her. “Don’t say that, okay? You don’t love me.”

She moves so she’s sitting side by side with him on his bed, and he immediately shrinks away from her, but she just ends up moving closer. “Stop,” she whispers.

“Ben, hey, look at me.” He does, and she wipes away his tears with her thumb. “I love you. So much. Please believe me when I say that. I don’t fling around those words for no reason, okay? God, I wish you could see how special you are to me, but it’s fine; you’ll get there in no time. Because, pal, whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere,” she repeats.

He lets out a disastrously quivery breath and wraps himself around her. Tears soak through her sweater, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Ben. “I-I can’t do this a-anymore, Leslie,” he whimpers. “I... I have to get out of here. It’s killing me.”

“I know, Ben. I know. One step at a time, alright? I’ll be with you the entire way.”

Ben nods against her skin. “I-I love you.”

Leslie plants tiny kisses in his drenched hair. “I love you too.”

~

“Steph’s gonna be home soon,” he says so quietly she barely hears him. It’s 3:02, and he told her the bus normally drops her off around 3:45. He fell asleep for a while, nestled protectively in her arms while she ran her fingers through his hair. She already knows there’s no way he could go to school tomorrow, even though she desperately needs to see him, needs to be around him. “But I don’t want you to leave,” he admits.

She nods. “I don’t wanna go either.”

“But I’ll see you in less than twenty-four hours,” he tells her, and she thinks he’s saying it more for himself rather than for her.

Leslie shakes her head. “You should take another day off. You’re still burning up.”

He shrugs. “I’m fine. It’s been this way for a while now. Laying around for a bit helps, but I’m honestly going stir crazy.”

“You know, it’s not very comforting for me to hear that you’ve been like this for longer than a day.”

He chuckles slightly. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. I figure I’ll take some more medicine and probably just crash the rest of the night.”

“That’s better.” She curls into him and notes that his heart is beating at a normal, steady pace. She places her head on his chest, and he wraps his right arm around her slender frame. “Please wrap your elbow. You don’t have to let me see it or anything, but it would make me feel better. Also, it will probably actually help with the pain.”

He kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

They lay like this for several more minutes until Leslie’s positive he’s fallen asleep once more. She’s almost lulled into a blissful unconsciousness herself. It’s the first time in a long, painful month that she feels so light and carefree and unburdened. She gets up as swiftly and silently as possible, pulling the comforter to his chin and leaning to kiss him on his overly warm cheek.

Ben’s bloodshot eyes pop open. “Love you, Leslie,” he murmurs groggily, snuggling his blankets around his face and visibly relaxing.

“I love you too, Ben. Sleep tight.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to BenjisCoolTimes, fourthinobesity, and SakuraBlossomStorm for reading over this chapter for me! You guys are all wonderful, and I have no idea what I'd do without you! :)

_October 16, 1992_

“Hold still,” Leslie instructs as she gently places his arm beneath the running water. It burns and singes his broken skin, and he hisses at the contact. The long, jagged cut on his wrist continues to ooze blood regardless of any and all attempts his girlfriend makes to fix it. “I think you might need stitches,” she informs him.

Ben shakes his head. “N-No. It’s okay. Let’s just wrap it and go.”

Leslie glares him like he’s lost his mind. “We’re not going to do that, Benjamin. That’s how cuts become infected. Here, let me get my Health textbook.”

He gulps, still holding his limb beneath the water as he rubs soap into it. Blood. Gross. His vision swims, and he grips the edge of the sink with his opposite hand. She steadies him like the sexy little anchor she is and begins to thumb through the book. “What’re you doing?” Because she definitely doesn’t think a high school publication can help him not lose his arm, right?

“Seeing if I can learn how to give you stitches.”

Ben’s heart immediately starts slamming, pounding relentlessly. “W-What?” he stammers out. “No way! You’re not qualified to do that!”

All his reasoning, which is pretty sound and logical in his opinion, earns is another scowl. “I understand that, but would you rather bleed to death?”

“I’m not going to bleed to death,” he tells her sincerely. “It’ll clot eventually.”

She scoffs. “Who knows how much blood you’ve lost already? And you’re woozy; I can tell.”

It’s been a long morning that keeps managing to stretch itself out to an even longer, more annoying morning. He’d been forced out of bed at two AM to cook Steve breakfast. Steve was, guess what, drunk off his ass and could barely form a complete, coherent sentence that didn’t contain the word “fuck” or “titties” (and he has literally no idea where that one came from).

Ben burnt the toast; he’d been too busy scrambling the eggs to perfection.

The rest is history that landed with a slash that won’t stop gushing, his ten millionth busted lip, and purpling, blossoming bruises on his chin and left cheek. Leslie already covered those with makeup, but this obviously isn’t going in the right direction. Sweat beads on his hairline, and he gulps as he stares at the gash she’s now rinsing out diligently with soap. His eyes grow heavy, and he’d be lying if he tried to deny the fact that he’s shaking.

Because he hasn’t slept in nine days.

Nine days.

Of course, he catnaps for a few minutes here and there; he wouldn’t be standing here alive today if he didn’t. But Steve’s been a weird brand of evil the past few weeks, and Ben’s just trying to mull through it. Steph’s now sleeping in his bed because she’s terrified to be alone at night, and she’s spent more than one night trying to stay up with him. Luckily, she caved around six yesterday and rested peacefully, undisturbed until seven this morning.

But Ben? He’s pretty sure he’s short-circuiting.

The effects of sleep deprivation weigh on him heavily, and he often finds himself dozing off in class. It’s a good thing he does somehow have natural intelligence, so it’s not like he’s failing or anything; in fact, he has straight A’s as usual. But he’s so tired. He used to be able to shove this basic need for sleep deep down in his gut, but he figures that’s only because he would physically lie down in his bed and make a thorough attempt at resting.

Now, though, Steve requests whatever whenever, and... yeah.

He just needs sleep. Like really badly.

But he snaps out of his trance when Leslie begins to carefully dry his arm off. “No stitches?”

“Oh, you’re getting stitches, Wyatt. But the warning bell for first period just rang...”

He frowns. “Right.”

Leslie quickly re-bandages his arm. The sleeve of his plaid shirt is soaked with a mixture of water and blood, and he’s happy he brought a hooded jacket with him. He throws that on, cringing at the odd, wet feeling before kissing Leslie softly on her lips. She’s helped him so much in the last month particularly, and he can’t ever find a way to be more grateful for her. She’s so sweet and kind and beautiful and gorgeous and absolutely stellar at everything she does.

“Did you do your half of the lab write up?” she questions as they exit the girl’s bathroom at the far end of the school that no one ever uses because it’s typically filled with raccoons. She tangles their fingers together and talks to him just like she would anyone else. There’s no judgment for the injuries, only love and care. Obviously, she’d rather him not have to deal with this, but she’s stopped trying to fix it; she tends to focus on what she can do now, whether it be learning how to stitch wounds closed or forcing him to take an onslaught of vitamins each day.

Which, by the way, seem to be working because, even though he’s crazily exhausted, he’s eating and gaining weight back little by little.

“Of course,” he tells her. “Wanna split cheese fries for lunch?”

She grins and nods and stops him halfway to her homeroom. “Do you know what today is?”

His eyebrows furrow. Shit. Shit shit shit. He’s screwing things up again. Why is he such a terrible –

“Ben, don’t panic,” she adds. “I was just gonna say that we met for the first time a year ago today.”

And, honestly, what a year it’s been.

Ben knows there’s absolutely zero chance he would’ve made it out on the other side without Leslie, Marlene, and Steph. He’s been more of a human disaster than he’s even used to, and they’ve been there tirelessly and effortlessly picking up the pieces when he no longer could do it himself. He’s broken down and been mangled and is still reeling from the effects of it, but he’s here. And, for once in a very long time, he feels good about that.

He gently tugs her to him, wrapping her tiny body up in his arms. “I love you, Leslie. So much.”

Leslie presses her lips against his. “I love you too, Benjamin.”

~

_November 4, 1992_

He comes to school with dark, finger shaped bruises on his neck, and she tries not to panic. Seriously, honestly, completely for real tries to keep her cool. Because her noticeable worrying makes his anxieties flare up, and he fleets inside himself; he’s too afraid to be that vulnerable, that open with her at this point, but it’s okay. Everything’s okay, and her boyfriend totally isn’t standing in front of her looking like he’s been strangled and hasn’t slept for weeks.

Nope. That’s not happening.

“Red Bull?” she finds herself stammering out instead. “It’s barely 7:30.”

He shrugs and takes another sip, and she pretends not to spy the grimace as he swallows. Oh God. No. No no no. She thinks of that beautiful mini horse Li’l Sebastian and Andy’s story of getting his head stuck in a hollowed out pumpkin for hours on Halloween night and how good it feels when Ben wraps her up in a hug when he first sees her. Only, that doesn’t happen on this stormy, bitter morning. He stares at the tiled floor, and she shivers.

“Do... Do you have any Tylenol?” he questions, and, nope, she definitely doesn’t hear the hoarse rasp of his voice.

She nods. “Of course.”

Leslie ushers him over to one of the cafeteria tables and has him sit down. She zips up his coat a little higher; she’ll worry about the contusions in a few minutes. But he seems wiped out, dead on his feet, and he keeps flinching at every sound. Okay. He’s strung out and deathly pale, and he’s wringing his hands together over and over again. She tries not to acknowledge the slight puffiness of his left eye or how it’s starting to streak red, and seriously?

Another black eye?

And, apparently, this one is just now forming.

“Ben,” she whispers, placing three capsules in his shaky palm. “What happened?”

He’s always so nonchalant when it comes to this stuff, so it’s no surprise that he shrugs his shoulders once again. She needs to get him patched up before first period, but he lays his head on her shoulder and tangles their fingers together once he takes the pills. “I wish we could see each other more,” he tells her quietly. “I want to be there for you.”

“You are here for me. You’re here for me all the time,” she reassures, kissing his hair.

~

_November 13, 1992_

It’s lunchtime, and he’s hiding out in the library.

He hasn’t had the greatest day so far. After being brutally yanked out of bed by his shirt collar this morning, he discovered Steph’s not feeling well. And his mind goes swirling, plummeting into last year’s memories. Because he was sick on his sixteenth birthday, and now it looks like his sister is going to be sick on his seventeenth. It doesn’t help that she goes to school miserably sick with a stuffy nose, raw throat, and mucus-riddled cough because she can’t stay at her own house.

It’s so fucking frustrating. His head pounds as he stares at the book in his lap. Doesn’t even know what it’s called. But what he does know is that he needs to get out of that house. Steve’s being more explosive, more violent, more volatile, and Steph can’t be around that. And, if he’s owning up, he might as well admit that he’s very very tired of being a human punching bag. He blinks away the tears swelling in his eyes and tries to calm his erratic heartbeat.

“What’re you doing back here?”

He glances up to see Leslie in front of him. She’s wearing his navy blue jacket, the one he wears beneath his coat. He’s shivering, but she looks so warm and comfortable. Immediately, she plops down on the floor beside him, curling up and pulling her knees to her chest. The librarian, Mrs. Finch, is sweet and kind, so she doesn’t mind him coming in here to study, even if he typically does it on the floor, balancing a notebook on the tattered fabric of his jeans.

“Are you okay?” he hears, and he realizes he never even answered her first question.

He nods, but no part of him feels okay. He doesn’t want to be at his house by any means, but he’s glad to stay there if it meant Steph could get some rest and get better. It’s Friday, so she’ll have the chance to rest over the weekend, but the thought of having to be around Steve for two days straight makes him nearly lose the lunch he hasn’t eaten.

“I made you this,” Leslie tells him, handing him a small, blue cardboard box with a bright green bow on the top.

Ben opens it, and he can’t help but smile. It’s a cupcake, probably chocolate because she knows that’s his favorite, with red frosting and the digits “17” spelled out with Sno-Caps. She’s so beautiful, inside and out. He knows his situation and life isn’t ideal, but she’s here, and she always finds ways to make him feel better. Once more, he blinks back tears.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, carefully closing and placing the box on the ground to wrap her up in a giant hug. He grins into her neck, and she kisses his cheek.

“You’re welcome,” she tells him. “I love you.”

And he tries to hide the fact that he’s trembling hard but for the best reasons possible. “I love you more, Leslie.”

~

Later that day, he finds a birthday card that’s seventy pages long and a deluxe edition of The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

And, despite everything that stands in his way, he doesn’t stop smiling the rest of the afternoon.

~

_November 19, 1992_

They’re making out in the janitor’s closet.

No, not the one down in the sophomore hallway with the rabid raccoons and oddly built moose statue, but the one that isn’t gross and weird. Well, it’s a janitor’s closet, so it’s not like it’s the nicest place to be, but it’ll do. Especially if Ben keeps doing these things with his tongue. God, he’s like some kind of sexy, ultra suave elf she wants hardcore make out with for the rest of her life. She literally has no idea how he manages to be so perfect, but he does it well.

Too well. Damn him.

Because Ben’s erection is clearly tenting his loose jeans, and her lips are swollen, puffy.

Of course, though, nothing good lasts forever.

The warning bell for the beginning of the day rings overheard, and she feels Ben’s tongue stop working its magic. She groans, and he grumbles, pulling away ever so slightly before kissing her softly and gently one more time. They’re sitting on the ground, but he tugs her close regardless. He’s so huggy and touchy, and she absolutely adores that about him. But, it’s at moments like these where she yearns for him. She wants to be able to see him outside of school. So badly.

“To be continued?” he asks, smirking crookedly, and she finds herself smashing their lips together once more, running her fingers through his disheveled hair.

~

_November 20, 1992_

“I-I can’t,” he whispers to her as they watch the snow fall during lunch. It’s peaceful and all, but Ben feels anything but that. This is the last day he’ll see Leslie until Monday, November thirtieth after Thanksgiving Break, and it’s making him so queasy. He can’t. He can’t do this. He’s going to lose her, and there’ll be nine whole entire days until he sees her again after today is over, and everything’s going to blow up in his face. Nope. No. He just... He needs her.

“Me either,” she tells him, rubbing his back through his flannel. “But we’ll be okay. You’ll be okay, alright?”

He shakes his head, raggedly sighing before pressing his face into both of his hands. “N-No. Steve will... I don’t even know, but he’ll –”

“Ben. Ben,” she coaxes. “Calm down. Breathe.”

And he does. Even though he knows it’s all fake, that he’s doing it by her request, it’s so much easier to do it with her around.

Everything is so much easier with her around.

She makes him feel light and free, even if it’s only for a little while.

“I d-don’t think I can make it nine days,” he tells her honestly.

Her hand is still on his back, grounding him in ways he thought unimaginable. She’s perfect. Beautifully, wonderfully perfect. He doesn’t deserve her, doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have a woman like Leslie Knope in his life.

“I don’t want to go through nine days without you,” she says. “But I swear everything will be fine.”

Ben feels his breathing hitch painfully in his throat; he swallows thickly. “Swear? Do you really mean that?”

Leslie presses her lips against his. “I swear, Ben. I swear.”

~

_November 30, 1992_

Her heart drops to her toes the second Ben walks through the double doors of the school building.

Instead of instantly wrapping him up in her arms and hugging the daylight out of him, she hurries him down the hall to the abandoned bathroom.

He’s clutching onto his left elbow, the one that never quite healed right in the first place. The moment they’re hidden from the rest of the world, tears stream down his flushed cheeks almost uncontrollably. God. No. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. She’s been working on building him up for two and a half months now, but this... This is not okay. None of it’s okay, but Ben’s got fingerprint markings around his neck again, and he’s sobbing.

“Ben,” she whispers, placing a careful hand on his shoulder because she’s not sure if he’s hurt anywhere else. But Ben sinks to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face into his khakis. She follows suit, tugging him to her and encircling his tiny frame into her arms. He’s boney. So boney. And her heart literally aches because she knows she’s lost a lot of progress with him, and that shouldn’t matter, but she can’t block it out either.

They sit there in a tightly curled ball until Leslie’s ass has enough time to grow entirely numb. Ben stops crying and starts sniffling, arm still glued protectively to his chest. He puts his head on her shoulder, and she strokes his right hand with her thumb as he hiccups and tries to regain his composure. He’s quivering violently, and she wishes she could help warm him, calm him.

“M-My elbow,” he murmurs. “I think... I dunno. It might be b-broken?”

He says it likes it’s a question, and Leslie immediately jumps into action.

“Can I see it?”

Normally, this inquiry always poses trouble for them, but he nods and begins to remove his coat. Leslie helps shuffle him to his feet in order to avoid any part of his body coming into contact with the wall behind them. She tries to ignore it when the same flannel shirt she saw fit him perfectly less than three weeks ago is now sagging off of him once again.

But she can’t ignore anything anymore once Ben Wyatt finally takes off the outer layer he’s so used to wearing.

Her attention doesn’t fly to the old cigar burns marring his arms or to the scars, some jagged, some straight, on the revealed skin. No, her eyes move to the elbow that’s wildly bruised yellow and red and purple and swollen to twice the size of the other elbow. A knot forms in her throat, and tears almost spill over her cheeks, but they don’t. They can’t. Because she won’t let them. He doesn’t need that right now. He needs help. Real, actual help.

“N-No nurse,” Ben tells her, and she’s never felt sicker in her entire life.

“Okay, Ben,” she whispers. “Okay.”

~

_December 1, 1992_

The only reason he shows up for school the next day is for Leslie.

He knows he really freaked her out yesterday, but he’s determined to make it better.

Ben wraps his elbow in an ACE bandage and tries to ignore the pounding sensation in his skull. He’s spent the better part of the previous night and morning puking and not sleeping. Hasn’t slept in almost thirteen days, but it’s okay. Everything’s okay. Steph’s fine, and Leslie’s here, and he can totally, definitely go on with his life.

Except, each time he moves, breathes, thinks, it hurts.

His vision blurs as he enters the school, heart hammering painfully into his chest. Leslie’s there to greet him, as always, but there are unshed tears in her eyes. He gives her the best one-arm hug he can muster and plants tiny kisses on her temple, and she pecks his neck sweetly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry...”

“Ben, you can’t keep this up,” she tells him, pulling out of the embrace. “You can’t. He’s going to kill you.”

He nods, and, yep, the panic’s back. “I-I know.”

“We need to get you help.”

But, at that, he shakes his head. “No. Steph and I will get placed back into the system. I-I can’t let that happen.”

“You’ll be no use to her if you’re dead. Then what’ll you do? What’s your backup plan for that?” Following that, though, her face softens, and she sighs before grabbing his right hand. “I’m scared, Ben. And, no, I’m not scared for me. I’m scared for you. How much longer do you think you can keep this up? Keep hiding from the rest of the world? Keep letting him hurt you and tear you down until there’s nothing left?”

He stares hard at the floor and tries to focus his mind on baseball stats or re-memorizing his Spanish IV sentences for the upcoming test.

“You deserve better, babe.”

He’s not so sure.

~

_December 2, 1992_

“Hey,” she says, shaking him gently.

Ben lifts his head from the desk and squints. “Yeah?”

“Do you want a soda or something? Maybe some candy to help you stay awake?”

He rubs at his eyes with his knuckles. “Do you have anything?”

“I wish I could get you coffee or something, but I have a Dr. Pepper and some Skittles,” she offers, sliding them his way. It’s just Study Hall, so it’s not like anyone cares or notices. Her boyfriend looks so tired. So so tired. Like he’s barely hanging on at all. He’s losing weight and falling asleep in classes, and she saw today that he got a B minus on his English paper instead of his normal sparkling A plus. It’s enough to repeatedly make her queasy.

Ben tentatively chews on a single purple Skittle, grimacing. “I need sleep,” he admits to her.

While the admission does frighten her, it makes her feel good knowing that he can still open up and be honest.

“I know you do,” she says, reaching for his right hand.

He’s trembling violently, and she’s positive it’s not possible for her to be anymore useless to him.

~

“Ms. Kn –” he stops himself immediately. “I-I mean Marlene. Can I –”

And he’s instantly, immediately shuttled inside the warm house that smells like cinnamon and cloves. Marlene encircles him in a monstrous hug, and he tries not to flinch or wiggle from her painful grasp. He notes that the Christmas tree is decorated; there are already a few gifts under it. He hasn’t really even seen one in person this close since he was six.

Everything feels so wrong and, yet, so right about being here. But he can’t sleep at his house, and Steph’s at Rachel’s for the night, and Steve’s not there anyway. Hasn’t seen Steve in almost two days, and he’s so freakishly exhausted that he’s seeing double and walked into a street pole on the way over here. He’s even thrown up a few times. His eyes can’t even creak more than halfway open at this point, and he... he just came here.

He’s an idiot.

He never should’ve come here. Good lord, what the fuck is he thinking?

“What brings you by, Ben?” Marlene questions, straightening out her sweater after she pulls away from the embrace.

Ben stuffs a hand into the pocket of his jeans, trying hard to keep on his feet and not collapse. He removes that hand a few seconds later and instead scratches his neck. He fidgets and twitches, his heart pounding and his breathing sticks in his chest, and it’s as if he’s forgotten how to act like a person.

“I-I need to sleep,” is ultimately what comes out of his mouth, and he’s never felt ruder in his entire existence. He scrubs his palm at his cheek, tears swelling in his eyes, and what is wrong with him? “I... I’m so sorry,” he tells her embarrassingly. “I shouldn’t have –”

“Nonsense,” she says. “You know where the spare bedroom is.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure? I can just go back home...”

“Ben, you’re always welcome here.”

Marlene ushers him into the room he spent practically the entire summer in, and he forces himself to hold it together, to be a man. The room looks exactly the same, except the floral comforter has been replaced by a festive green and red one that looks exceptionally warm. Ben peels back the covers, and he swears his mouth waters as he sits down on the mattress, toeing off his Chuck Taylors and relaxing against the best pillows in the universe.

He’s already in a half-trance when Marlene pulls the blankets over his body, kissing his forehead before exiting the room.

~

“Ben’s here?!” Leslie gasps, setting down her backpack from an afternoon at Ann’s in the biggest hurry of her life because this is the best news ever!

Her mother stops her. “He needs to rest, honey. He’s exhausted.”

“How long has he been here?”

“A couple hours. I didn’t want to call you because I figured you’d just jump him the second you could.”

“I wouldn’t do that! I’m totally chill all the time! Who cares if my sexy ass boyfriend is at my house?”

Of course, her mom eyes her for that. “You can go in there, but you need to let him sleep.”

“Psshh. No problem. Sleep is my middle name.”

“Leslie,” her mom warns. “I mean it.”

She nods and hugs her because her mom is clearly amazing before quietly tiptoeing into the spare bedroom. It’s dark and toasty, and she slides beneath the comforter to snuggle her front against his back, draping an arm around his slender waist and holding him close. Inhaling the minty scent of his hair. Relishing in the fact that he’s actually here.

Ben doesn’t stir, and it’s easily the most bliss Leslie’s felt in months.

~

“This spaghetti is amazing,” he tells Marlene.

“At least you don’t need to put salgar on your pasta,” she says.

Ben scrunches his nose. “Salgar?”

“It’s a clever combination between salt and sugar,” Leslie pipes up from the chair beside his.

He grimaces. “Sounds gross.”

“What? No! Try it!”

And, yeah, so maybe she shovels, actually shovels, the food into his unsuspecting mouth, but... it’s not actually half bad.

Good lord, he feels weird even thinking that.

But he’s not going to grant Leslie that satisfaction.

It’s nearly eight in the evening, and he managed to get four hours of sleep under his belt. He thought, honestly, he’d feel a bit better than this, but oh well. It’s better than nothing. It’s so much better than nothing. His eyes are swollen and kind of irritated, and he has the biggest urge in the world to go lie right back down in that marvelous bed. He knows Marlene would let him if he asked, but he should get going soon just in case Steve stumbles in.

Of course, though, he’ll relax for a while longer with the wonderful Knope ladies.

~

_December 3, 1992_

It’s 1:13 AM when the phone rings, blaring in her ears and causing her to jolt.

She reaches her hand out of the blanket cocoon she's submerged herself in and answers it through impulse, hoping her mom doesn’t hear it. Leslie isn’t even slightly tired. Instead, she’s watching TV and keeps thinking about how nice it was to have Ben here again, even if it was only for a short period of time. They napped and ate and kissed, and it felt so painfully normal that she’s still reeling from it.

“Hello?” she says, honestly figuring it’s Ann.

“L-Leslie?”

Ben. She recognizes his voice right away.

Wait. When the fudge did he get a phone?!

But his voice sounds warbled and foreign and cloudy. Thick and broken.

“Ben, hey, are you alright?”

A crackling sob ruptures through the other end, sending her heart crashing to her toes. “N-No. I... I... I-I n-need he-help...”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to BenjisCoolTimes, SakuraBlossomStorm, and forthinobesity for betaing this for me! You guys are amazing and wonderful humans! :)

_December 3, 1992_

She calls 911 without hesitation, rattling off his address like it’s been burned into the back of her mind because it has.

And then she sprints downstairs to her mom’s room, breezing in like a whirlwind of chaotic emotion and frantically informing her that Ben’s hurt, and she doesn’t know how badly, and she needs to see him. Needs to make sure he’s okay. Needs to hold his hand and wrap him up in her arms and feel him breathe against her own skin. Her mom hops out of bed, pulling on different clothes before tugging a thick coat over her shoulders.

Leslie’s already in jeans and her Pawnee High sweatshirt, and she can feel her heart swell and combust multiple times in her chest. Breathing doesn’t work. Thinking positively doesn’t work. But what works even less is imaging Ben in agony, screaming bloody murder as his dad wails on him. What works even less is hearing his broken, terrified voice ring in her ear. And, seriously, what works even less than that is that her mom won’t let her stop by Ben’s house.

“You don’t know what happened, Les,” her mother points out. “I can’t risk endangering you too.”

“He could be dying, Mom! Can’t we at least make sure he’s okay?” she questions. This light bulb turns on in her mind, and she nearly throws up right then and there. “Oh God. What about Steph?” She paces on the carpet long enough and intensely enough to wear holes in her shoes and the ground below, and she chews on the skin around her thumbnail as panic gushes through her. Tears swell up and pour over her cheeks, and this can’t be happening.

She should’ve done something. She should’ve done something sooner.

“You called an ambulance, right?”

Leslie stops pacing momentarily, but that doesn’t make her worrying decrease. “Yeah.”

“Then that’s all we can do other than drive to St. Joseph’s ourselves.”

Her mom pulls on tennis shoes and doesn’t even bother fixing her hair. Leslie’s not quite sure why she’s paying attention to that, though. Her mom never leaves the house without looking decent, always wanting to make that best impression possible. But she keeps picturing Ben’s face bloody and bruised, and she chokes back another violent sob as a pretty suspected crying jag takes over. Come on. Stop. Pull it together. Ben needs her right now.

It’s time to buck up.

She’s witnessed Ben do this a million times. He walked around on a busted knee for almost an entire year. He takes care of Steph to the best of his ability, even though he himself is breaking down inside. He rubs Leslie’s back when she’s stressed and helps her mom cook dinner when he’s here. He does so much for everyone else, but nothing for his own good. She wipes her leaky eyes on her sweatshirt, and her mom hands her the purple coat from her hook.

“It’ll be okay, Leslie,” her mother reassures, even though she’s biting her lower lip. Her mom’s the strongest woman she’s ever met. Leslie’s certain she gets almost every ounce of her tenacity from her mother, while she knows she gets her zest for all things “life” from her father. It’s an even mixture that created her, and she tries not to focus on how her mother seems as though she’s ripping apart at the seams, how she’s about to spill out emotions without warning.

She shakes her head. “Y-You don’t know that.”

Her mother takes her hand and ends up encircling her in a hug. “I do know that. Ben’s a tough guy. He’s gonna be alright.”

Leslie nods, even though she’s not so sure.

~

It’s bloody and horrifying, and Leslie’s three seconds away from tossing her cookies when Ben grabs her clammy hand with his freezing one, rubbing over the back of it carefully with his thumb. Part of her is thankful for the compassion toward her, but the other part of her wants to scream and apologize for being such a mess when it’s obvious just how much he needs her to be strong, resilient, to fight for him. Dried tear tracks stain his flushed, bruised cheeks, and her breath catches in her throat, and he buries his overheated face into the crook of her neck as she takes a careful, tentative seat on the edge of the gurney.

Snowflakes. There are snowflakes nestled in his destroyed hair, and he’s trembling hard enough to throw all of Pawnee into a disastrous earthquake.

“Okay, Mr. Wyatt, I’m going to need you to hold still,” a random nurse says nicely, and Ben nods, clasping on to Leslie harder. God. He’s shaking. He’s shaking so badly, and she kisses his hair, whispering sweetly in his ear as if it’ll stop the pain enveloping his entire body. As if it’ll matter, change anything about the situation.

Then, there’s an oxygen mask placed over his mouth and nose, and his face is laced with oozing gashes and uncertainty. There’s an additional blanket draped over his leg, the right one that’s bruised and mangled, and she... She can’t. This isn’t happening to Ben. He’s so sweet, caring, kind, gentle, considerate. He would never intentionally hurt a single soul, even though the world’s been anything but kind to him in return.

And who’s going to look after Steph? Oh God. Where the hell is she in the first place? She was so worried about getting here with her mom that she completely bypassed the younger Wyatt’s whereabouts. Steve’s in custody after running off, and Steph’s nowhere to be found. Leslie scrubs quivering hands down the side of her face and tries to keep her composure. Her heart’s thumping straight out of her chest, and this isn’t real. This isn’t real.

But it’s very real. And she’s never seen anything like it.

Ben forms a death grip around her hand as doctors tend to his leg. She starts losing feeling, sensation in her fingers, but it’s okay. Everything’s okay. She has to be here for him. But she also really needs to know where Steph is. She’s only thirteen.

“Shh... Shh...” Leslie coos softly. It’s a disaster. A huge fucking disaster. And she has more than half a mind (an overly full mind, dammit) to kill Steve Wyatt, force him to suffer like he did to Ben. She can’t even look directly at her boyfriend right now. She’s not sure she’s ever seen anyone so... broken. “It’s okay, Ben. It’s okay.”

But she’s not sure whether she’s saying it for him or for her peace of mind.

As hard as this is, she’s going to be here. Because no one deserves it more than him. Her own tears spill over and land in his hair, and he’s holding strong as another nurse takes his blood pressure for the fourth time. Tells him to calm down as the doctor administers hopefully the most kick ass painkiller in the galaxy. The gash above his right eye is still gushing every now and then, and his left elbow is nothing more than a mirage of purple and black.

She hasn’t seen his leg. Doesn’t know if she can stomach it.

“Miss,” yet another nurse says. “We need you to leave now. You can sit in the waiting room. I promise to come get you once we’re done with the x-rays.”

She’s trying to be nice, to do her job, but Leslie’s face reddens. “Please. No, um, you don’t understand. I have... I need to s-stay with him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

“No, I-I n–” she stammers.

Maybe she should lie and say she’s his sister.

Yeah right. They’d probably see right through that one.

But then Ben speaks up from beside her. “’s okay, Les. I’ll be ‘lright.”

His leg. She can’t. How could someone do that to a kid?

Jesus Christ. He’s just a kid. They both are.

“You better come get me once he’s done,” she tells the nurse matter of factly because she’s so not playing games tonight. “Please.”

~

It’s, without a doubt, the worst hour and a half of her life.

Her mom manages to get ahold of Steph at her friend’s house and tells her to stay put, explains to the parents that her older brother’s been involved in an accident. Leslie clings to her mother like she’s her only lifeline, the only thing standing in between her breakdown over Ben. Because her wonderful mother’s been talking to the police and is working out an arrangement to get temporary custody of both Steph and Ben, but Leslie has no idea how any of that works.

What she does know is this: She loves Ben.

She loves him so much, and seeing him in that kind of unspeakable agony killed her.

He could’ve died.

Ben seriously could’ve died.

But then, finally, both Leslie and her mom are escorted back to the ER, where Ben’s gashes are stitched closed, and he’s lying on a clean hospital bed. The instant she reaches him, she wraps him in a monstrous hug, kissing the crap out of him, her tongue swirling in his mouth. Her stomach drops to her toes, and he’s a really really really good kisser, but then he groans in pain, and she immediately stops, taking in his very droopy, bloodshot eyes.

“Ben! I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t –”

He leans forward the best he can and holds her with his one working arm, rubbing her back lightly, gently, and it gives her goosebumps. Just goosebumps. His leg still isn’t even in a cast yet (because there’s no way it isn’t broken), but it’s bundled in gauze to stop the worst of the bleeding, and he looks so shatteringly exhausted. She wants to take him home, to cuddle him and cater to his every possible whim. She loves him. She loves him so much, and this is so hard.

“Where’s Steph?” Ben asks, his voice hoarse.

Leslie sits on the edge of the bed and gently grabs his hand. “She’s at Rachel’s.”

Typical Ben. He’s in the hospital and hooked up to so many machines and is basically bruised to the bone, but he’s always worried about Steph. He’s always worried in general (not that she can blame him for that), but there’s this gleam of terror in his tired eyes, and she feels this urge to card her fingers through his hair as her mind spirals out of control, but she doesn’t. She can’t even gauge how much pain he’s actually in because, seriously, he’s pretty good at hiding it.

And he doesn’t seem loopy from painkillers. He seems... oddly okay?

She’s not sure what she’s expecting. He’s most likely still in shock.

Her mom speaks up from an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, and Leslie gulps. “Ben, what happened?” But she asks it so delicately, so un-Marlene Knope like that it causes her to shiver and for him to squirm ever-so slightly, his hand trembling harder in hers. She rubs over his bruised knuckles, and holy shit. They’re bruised. Did Ben fight back?

Ben swallows thickly. “Steve... H-He, uh... He...” But he trails off and never manages to pick it back up. In an instant, her mom’s standing, pulling him into a soft bear hug that causes his monitors to start beeping temporarily. “I’m sorry...” she hears him whimper against her mom’s skin. “I-I’m so sorry...” He chokes back a sob, and Leslie feels him squeeze her hand even harder as he tries so desperately to glue himself together when everything is so wrong.

So broken.

“Don’t ever worry about him again, okay?” her mom says. “We’ve got you, Ben. We’ve got you.”

~

She doesn’t leave his bedside for hours.

He eventually gets moved from the ER to the ICU. He’s coherent and conscious, but his leg’s broken in three places, and he needs surgery. His left elbow’s broken too, but it’s already in a cast that she’s been doodling on for the last few minutes. He hasn’t talked much and has spent this time alternating between sleeping from the pain meds and waking up in a confused panic. So confused that he jars his leg enough to cause tears to swell in his eyes and threaten to spill over.

But no. He’s holding it together.

Even though, honestly, she thinks he needs to break.

But she understands it at the moment and definitely refuses to pressure him to expel his emotions. Doctors and nurses come in and out every ten minutes or so, asking if he’s okay or if he needs anything. Ben always says no, but her mom and Leslie both ask a few times for water to keep him hydrated (even though he’s hooked up to an IV) and for something a bit more to keep him warm. He couldn’t stop quivering, so they gave him a heated blanket that seems to be doing the trick because, at the very least, he isn’t trembling anywhere near as badly.

Her mom leaves for yet another discussion with Social Services, and Ben’s eyes are closed, but Leslie can’t help herself.

“Hey,” she whispers, rubbing his right arm gently. “You doing okay?”

Ben nods, but he doesn’t offer anything else.

“Do you need anything? Do you want me to see if we can get you a TV or something in here?”

He shakes his head. “No thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’ll just take me a sec to find out.”

“I’m alright. Thank you, though.”

She will never understand him. He’s so calm and polite, even though he’s in the hospital. He’s so sweet and considerate, even though he’s been kicked when he’s down pretty much his entire life. He’s so nice and compassionate, even though his own father’s never shown him anything but hatred. He’s so lovable. So kind and handsome and has very kissable, cute lips.

“What happened tonight?” she whispers. “You don’t have to tell me, but... I just want you to know I’m here.”

He slouches a bit more against a fluffy stack of pillows her mom made sure to make a scene about. “I, um... He, um... He was drunk...” he stammers quietly. “And he wanted me t-to make him dinner... I was asleep and h-had a really bad headache, and he just kinda... yanked me out of bed. I told him I didn’t feel well. He told me to suck it up. And I... um, sorta screamed at him, telling him that I’m not some whipping boy to j-just throw around whenever h-he sees fit. So... he hit me, and... T-This time, I fought back...”

She gulps. “Your leg?”

“Pushed me down the stairs. Landed on it a bit funny at first, but he, um, kinda... stomped on it, and, well, the rest is history...”

And she has no idea how to feel about any of this. What is she supposed to say? Is there anything she could even say to make it better? Even remotely? He does so much to cheer her up, to cast that glimmer of light and hope when she’s down, but she can’t process this. She wants to kill Steve Wyatt. She really wants to go give him a piece of her mind, hit him over the head with a baseball bat, and then leave this in the past. She wants to build a better future with Ben, who deserves it more than anyone she’s ever met in her entire life.

And, in all seriousness, she’s never once heard him talk so openly about what Steve’s put him through, much less on the most severe incident he’s encountered thus far. She knows he trusts her, but she didn’t know he’d actually tell her what happened. And that’s not a bad thing. She wasn’t planning on shoving until he broke and spilled the beans. She’s notorious for steamrolling people, but this is one time she’d never ever even think about doing that.

Ben means way too much to her.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, grabbing her hand and rubbing over it thoughtfully. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Tears swell in her eyes, and she almost lets them fall, but she pushes the feeling far, far away

Ben doesn’t need that right now. He needs someone to be there for him, not the other way around.

And she’s going to be that person.

~

_December 4, 1992_

Ben’s already in surgery by the time her mom runs out to pick up Steph, who enters the waiting room with dried tear tracks cascading her face. She sniffles as she plops down beside Leslie, immediately crossing her arms over her chest and staring intently at the ground. Leslie bites her lower lip. She doesn’t quite know how to even begin this conversation. She’s only thirteen, and her big brother, her saving grace in a lot of instances, is injured and in the hospital.

“Is he okay?” she hears Steph whisper. “Like for real okay?”

Leslie wraps a careful arm around her shoulders and tugs her in close. “He’s alright. I mean, you know he’s hurt, but he’s been talking and isn’t in too much pain.”

“But he’s having surgery,” she points out. “I... I d-don’t even know what happened. I should’ve... I should’ve been there.”

Leslie shakes her head. “No. Don’t blame any of this on yourself, Steph. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“Ben does so much for me. I’m pretty sure I could’ve taken a hit or two,” she says so bluntly it sends shivers down her spine.

“You know Ben never would’ve let that happen.”

She nods. “I know, but still. But you’ve never seen Ben when he’s really upset... It’s... scary,” she admits.

And that causes Leslie to glance down at her lap. She knows she isn’t talking about his temper. It’s the fact that he shuts down, stops talking, and refuses to eat. It’s the fact that he blocks out anything and everything that could possibly upset him again. It’s the fact that he pushes himself into a corner and refuses to let anyone help him pick up the pieces. He’s so focused on doing it all by himself, but Leslie’s not going to let that happen this time.

He’s at his wits end, and she can’t fail him now.

“I know it’s scary, Steph,” Leslie tells her. “But we have to be strong for your brother. We have to let him know we’re here for him.”

Steph sighs. “I’ve never stopped being there for him; he’s just too stubborn to realize that.”

“Well, he’s going to learn this time around, okay? We’ll make sure of it together.”

But Steph still doesn’t look so sure, and Leslie wishes she could soothe her worries, to turn back the clock to before this happened. She knows their life has been filled with hatred and both physical and internal wounds, but this is a whole different ballgame. This is bad. Really bad. And Steph and Ben need to know that someone is out there looking out for them, that they’re not going to be separated by the system or broken down any further.

“You don’t know that,” Steph says with a trembling voice. “Y-You can’t know that for sure.”

“I do know that. My mom’s been talking to the police and Social Services all night. I’m pretty sure you’re coming home with us tonight.”

“But then what? They’ll just send us to another foster home whenever Ben gets out of the hospital.”

Leslie shakes her head. “We won’t let that happen.”

And Steph looks at her for a split second before pulling her into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

~

It takes forever, but he’s finally out of surgery and somewhat awake. His right leg’s now in a cast, propped up and elevated by multiple long, fluffy pillows. The swelling around his left eye’s gone down drastically, and his lip’s only slightly puffy at this point. He looks... better. It’s deceiving. It honestly is. Because Leslie knows he’s hurting, and that this entire fiasco has to be weighing on him heavily, and she can’t even figure out how she’ll make it better.

“Well, good afternoon, Ben,” her mom says quietly, rubbing his right arm, careful of the IVs.

He creaks open his eyes that fell shut and blinks blearily. “Hi,” his whispers. But then he spies Steph and manages to grin. “Hey, Steph.”

She takes a few cautious steps forward before sitting in a plastic chair beside his bed. “Are you okay?”

True to his stoic nature around her, he nods. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

Leslie wants to punch him for even saying that, but she’ll let it slide. She wishes he would stop shoving his emotions away, like they don’t mean anything at all. But, she also has to realize that he’s fresh from having his leg sliced opened and mended back together because it wouldn’t heal properly without it, so she’s going assume he’s too drugged to realize the gravity, the pressure, the weight behind what he’s actually saying.

Because no one, not even Ben Wyatt, can be “okay” after what happened.

She’s not even okay, and she’s nowhere near as close to the situation as Ben and Steph.

But Steph seems calmed by just the fact that her brother’s speaking, so that’s enough, at this very current moment, for Leslie.

“Hi, Les,” Ben grates out, wincing a little as he tries to shift in the bed.

But, also true to her passionate nature, Leslie isn’t okay with just that. In fact, she tentatively wraps her arms around him, hyperaware of her movements. Ben latches on with his one arm, rubbing small circles near her spine as she feels a few tears leak down her cheeks. “I love you,” she whispers. “I love you so much.”

Ben kisses her neck. “I love you so much, Leslie. Please never forget that.”

Soon, Steph and Marlene join in the group hug, and, for the first time since this disaster, Leslie feels warmth seeping back into her bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you goes out to BenjisCoolTimes and SakuraBlossomStorm for beta-ing this! You guys are seriously the best!

_December 4, 1992_

Drugs.

So many drugs.

He remembers a nurse explaining to him each component of what’s pumping through his body, but he has no idea what any of it’s called. And, honestly, he doesn’t care. Because this stuff, whatever it is, is the bees knees, and bees don’t even have knees. At least he doesn’t think so. Wait. No. He doesn’t know. Maybe he should ask Leslie. She’s so smart and beautiful and brilliant and gorgeous; she knows the answers to every question under the sun.

Only... Leslie isn’t here.

And it’s Steve’s hands that are wrapped around his neck, sucking the air out of his lungs. It’s Steve’s voice telling him he’ll amount to nothing, that he’ll kill him before he even gets a chance to escape. It’s Steve’s fists pounding into his eyes until they’re black and blue and ruptured and gross, and he... Fuck. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Where is Leslie? Why isn’t she here?

She said she’d never leave him, and she’s gone, and he... What’s he supposed to do?

Ben tries to sit up, but any form of movement causes these weird achy thingies to take over.

And then he glances down at his arm and finds it encased in a cast. It’s blue. He doesn’t know why.

He wiggles his toes and thinks maybe he can swing his legs over the side of this bed.

Wait. No. Hospital. He’s in the hospital.

See. Drugs.

There’s so many of them.

He scrubs his working hand down the side of his face, and tears swell in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He needs to get out of here. It’s stifling. His heart can’t breathe. He can’t focus on anything for too long. And, seriously, where’s Leslie? He needs her to be here. Why isn’t she here? Ben sniffles and groans. His back hurts. And his leg feels funny.

“Well, hi there, sleepy head,” he hears, and he immediately grins.

He sheepishly waves. “Hi, Leslie.”

Leslie, pretty Leslie, sits on the edge of the surprisingly comfortable mattress and kisses his temple gently, softly, as if he’ll break altogether if she kisses too hard or too much. Which, for real, he might. Who knows? Something about an arm and a leg. Things are a little fuzzy. Fuzzy. Hmm. Fuzzy socks would be nice. He should tell Leslie that.

Only, the second he opens his mouth, he clamps it shut.

Because Steve.

He can’t talk. Shouldn’t talk. What if he finds out he’s here? And he can’t rat him out because he’s his son, and Steph will get taken away.

“Are you okay?”

Ben nods, and he flinches when Leslie takes his right hand, smooching his swollen knuckles.

But, now, he’s trembling, and he keeps gulping, and there’s no amount of medicine in the world to fix this. What do the doctors think this is? Sure, casts and antibiotics will help it from getting any worse, but what do they suppose is going to happen when Steve comes here to get him? Ben knows he can’t even walk. There’s this obnoxiously loud lime green thing swallowing his entire leg from toes to upper thigh, and why is it so big? He swears he can’t even lift it.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Ben, you’re in the hospital. Everything’s okay now.”

Why is she telling him this?

He knows. He knows.

People keep telling him he’s alright, but it’s not alright.

“Just relax, and try to breathe.”

He’s breathing. He’s breathing.

But, suddenly, there’s this wet stuff on his cheeks and dribbling down his neck, and why is this tubey thingy poking him?

“No, Ben, stop!” he hears Leslie command. “That’s your IV. You need that.”

He shakes his head, and Leslie’s here. She’s here. And her fingers are in his hair, and everything’s so blurry, and where is Steph?

Leslie, his Leslie, peppers more kisses on his temple and wipes the wetness away with her thumb.

He leans back and breathes.

~

_December 5, 1992_

His leg hurts.

Really really hurts.

Fuck, he’s whining. He should stop. No one likes whiners.

But there’s this bolt of electricity that carves out his hollowed leg and burrows deep inside the shattered bone. His chest tightens. No. Stop. This shouldn’t be happening. He needs to breathe, but there are so many wires everywhere, and the room’s so fucking sterile, and how does anyone expect him to feel any better in this stupid hospital room?

His attention moves from the pain coursing through his leg to Marlene entering the room.

She doesn’t say anything at first; she just drapes this grey and black flannel quilt over him and tugs it to his chest.

“Do you need anything else?”

What? Did he ask for the blanket? He doesn’t remember asking.

But, then again, he knows there’s been lapses in his memory since he’s been here. Something about trauma or something like that. Doesn’t remember half the shit that comes out of his mouth anymore because it’s like the agony ripples through him on a constant basis, and why can’t he get comfortable? Why can’t he be a normal fucking seventeen year old and not have to deal with all of this pent up garbage finally leaking itself out of a crappy, cheap plastic bag?

“You look frustrated, honey,” he hears Marlene say, still fussing with the quilt.

He shrugs. “Tired, I guess.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like his own.

Nothing sounds or feels like it belongs to him.

“Do you want something to help you sleep? I just saw your nurse down the hall.”

He shakes his head. “No. No more drugs.”

“I think you need them,” she points out.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want them.”

He’d cross his arms over his chest, but, um, yeah, that won’t work at the moment.

Shit. Shivers steamroll through him, and Marlene pulls the blanket up to his chin this time.

Like he can’t even help himself anymore.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “You’ve been in a rotten mood all morning.”

“Am I not allowed to be in a bad mood?” he shoots back.

And he instantly regrets it, but he holds firm, biting the inside of his cheek.

Marlene sighs. “Ben, what can I do?”

His eyebrows furrow. What can she do? How about getting him out of here for starters? And then he wants to go curl up the best he can in their guest bed and sleep. Sleep without needing a nurse to come check on him every thirty minutes. Sleep without someone poking or prodding him. Sleep without checking incisions or asking if he needs anything for the pain or if he’s comfortable because of course he’s not fucking comfortable.

But none of that matters.

Steve will get both him and Steph back...

Or, worse, they’ll go into the foster care system until he turns eighteen.

Which, by the way, is a whole eleven months and ten days away from right now.

He can’t make it that long. And neither can Steph. He won’t put her through that.

Ben shifts slightly in the bed, and Marlene takes a seat in a plastic chair by his side.

“Sweetie, now is not the time to shut down.”

“Why does it even matter?” he inquires. “It’s not like we have tons of options anymore in the first place. And why are you here?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come off as harshly as it does, but it totally and definitely does, and he face palms himself.

“I’m here because I care about you, Ben. I’m here, and Leslie’s here, and your sister’s here because we love you and want you to get better. We want you to get out of here and come home, and that starts with you not being so stubborn all the time.”

He scoffs. “Yeah right. What home? Steve’s in jail. Once he gets out, he’ll yank us from the system, and we’ll be back to square one.”

“Ben, your dad’s not getting out of jail any time soon. I can guarantee that much.”

“Great. System it is, then.”

This time, Marlene moves to where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

Ben jolts when she strokes his cheek with her warm fingers.

Only Leslie touches him like that.

“You’re coming home with us,” she tells him. “The second you get released, you’re in my care. And, trust me, I won’t let anything bad ever happen to you again.”

Home? No. He doesn’t have a home. He hasn’t had a home since he was six years old. He used to fucking watch his older brother play baseball from Steve’s fucking shoulders. He used to crawl into his parents’ bed and sleep with them at night when he was scared or sick. He used to mop up Steve’s vomit and place pillows under his head and cook him dinner. He used to do all of this shit that he shouldn’t have ever had to do, and now he suddenly has a home?

He finds himself shaking his head. “No. We’re not taking advantage of you like that.”

“Well, it’s a little too late. I’ve already filed for temporary custody. It’ll be permanent once the paperwork gets in motion.”

“But –”

“No buts, Ben. Everything’s okay now. You guys are safe.”

~

_December 6, 1992_

“Do you know when you’ll get out of here?” Steph asks, laying down a red three.

His reactions are still slow and sluggish, but his younger sister doesn’t seem to mind. She’s steady and patient and understanding. She always has been.

Ben shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you still have to pee through that tube?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Does it hurt?”

“The pee tube?”

Steph nods. “And the... leg?”

He bites his bottom lip. It hurts. It hurts so freaking badly, but he can’t let that show. He has these stupid painkillers riding through his system, but it doesn’t exactly help. It just makes him feel fuzzy and floaty. He’s only been here for three days, and it’s already wearing off so quickly it makes his head spin. “No. Not too much anymore,” he tells her.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” she says. “You know that, right?”

But yes he does. It’s his job to protect her from anything and everything ugly and evil in this world. She’s seen enough of it in her short thirteen years to know that the world isn’t sunshine and rainbows and all things happy, even if it’s the message that Leslie’s trying to instill in her head. But that doesn’t mean that Ben has to tell her that his body aches all over, and he tries desperately not to fall asleep because what good would that do?

How would sleeping help Steph?

So, instead, he watches Raiders of the Lost Ark and the original Star Wars three times each because those are her favorite movies. He plays cards and reads aloud to her while she settles in next to him in his hospital bed and makes sure, above all, that she’s being taken care of. He knows Marlene would never let her go hungry or not have clothes to wear. And he knows Leslie comforts her when she’s scared and helps her with her homework.

Deep down, he knows she’s in good hands.

But, honestly, that doesn’t help ease his mind.

“I know,” he tells her. “I’m fine.”

His sister sighs. “I’m thirteen, and I can tell when you’re lying. You’ve been my big brother my entire life.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Got any fives?”

“No. This is not ‘whatever’ anymore, Ben. You’re hurt. You’re in the hospital. And Steve almost fucking killed you!”

“Language,” he warns.

And he drops his cards on the rolling table that’s at his chest level.

“Who cares about my language?” she questions incredulously. “You almost died, and you can’t even give me enough credit to see that I want to help you. I’m not some dumb little kid you have to bathe or walk to school!”

“I understand that,” he says through gritted teeth. “But you also have to understand this: I’ve taken care of you basically your entire life. I’ve changed your diapers and made your lunches everyday since you started school. I taught you the alphabet. I taught you to read. I taught you your numbers. I paid out of my own pocket for your school field trips and whatever you needed. I don’t want you to see me like this, okay? That’s what this boils down to.”

Steph grabs her coat from the back of the chair. “Fine. Then you don’t have to see me at all.”

~

_December 7, 1992_

“She just wants to help,” Leslie says.

Not this again. He can’t handle much more today.

Between the police and social service interviews and the very awkward attempt at physiotherapy, he’s had enough. And the dose of morphine he was given earlier wore off fifteen minutes ago, and his entire leg feels like it’s engulfed in flames, and his stomach churns more and more with each passing syllable leaving his mouth. He’s done so much talking today, more than he’s sure he’s done in his entire measly existence.

“I know,” he whispers.

Leslie’s head is on his shoulder as The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air plays on the tiny TV. She plays with the fingers of his right hand while he tries desperately to hold himself together long enough to not throw up all over her. And he knows she wants to talk about Steph, but he can’t. He can’t right now. But Leslie’s so soft and pretty, and he wishes he could do more to be there for her. And Steph. This whole hospitalization thing needs to be over soon so he can go back to being himself. He wants all three of these lovely ladies in his life to know he’s there for them no matter what, and he kind of can’t be that at the moment, given the circumstances.

And it makes him feel weak. Useless.

Because he is weak and useless.

It’s been five hours since physical therapy, and he can still barely lift his head off the pillows, and that’s not fair to them.

And Steph.

Fuck.

Steph.

He doesn’t want her to be mad at him. That’s the last thing he ever wants from his sister.

He shouldn’t have been such an asshole.

Ben shifts and grumbles, and Leslie’s hand is on his back in an instant.

“Where’s Steph?” he asks quietly. “And your mom?”

“They’re at home. Mom’s coming to get me soon. Why? What’s going on?”

But there’s sweat dripping into his eyes, and his arm and leg seer in agony with any movement whatsoever.

So, honestly, it doesn’t really help matters much when he hangs his head over the side of the bed and vomits.

~

_December 8, 1992_

“You need to eat,” Marlene says.

She’s sitting beside him in that chair again, and he scowls.

“Put that bottom lip away, kiddo. Five bites.”

It’s chicken noodle soup. Again.

He isn’t hungry. His doctor’s threatening to give him a feeding tube.

Which is just another tube to add to the collection, so fuck it. Let him.

Ben shakes his head and tries to curl on to his side, but that’s the biggest “no go” since his accident. He can’t sleep on his back. And he can’t turn to his left because his arm’s in a cast, and he can’t turn to his right because his leg howls in anger on a constant enough basis as it is. Shit. Fuck. It’s hot. No. Wait. Cold. He doesn’t know what’s going on at the moment, but he needs Leslie and sleep and for Steph to come back so he can properly apologize.

“Don’t do this, Ben,” Marlene tells him. “You have to eat. You just have to.”

“I don’t feel good,” he mumbles.

“None of that, okay? Believe me, I know you don’t feel well, but you need to get some of your strength back. It’s just five bites.”

Yeah, five bites of pure hell and torture he’ll puke back up anyway.

But he goes to reach for the spoon regardless.

Except his whole entire hand shakes, and he’s never felt more useless in his life than when Marlene takes the spoon instead.

“You’re alright,” she soothes. “Five bites, and then you can go back to sleep.”

He nods and trusts her to do the rest.

~

_December 9, 1992_

Steph enters his room the second he finishes spitting into a stupid kidney shaped container.

“Do you want me to get a doctor?” she asks, and he can hear the urgency in her voice, the need for her to know he’s okay.

He shakes his head. “No. ‘m good now.”

His little sister shrugs off her green coat, rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, and reaches for his patented throw up holder. He tries to stop her, but she gently swats his good hand. “I’ve got it,” she says, and he believes her. He doesn’t want to fight.

Steph dumps the nastiness and cleans out the container before placing it beside his cup of Gatorade and the television remote. She plops down in the chair a few moments later, pulling her math textbook from her backpack. He smiles. He knows Marlene and Leslie are around here somewhere, or maybe they dropped her off for a bit so she can visit with him alone. Steph’s so much... older than what he remembers. He gets that sounds stupid because they’ve only ever been apart for a nine days during last summer when she went to soccer camp, but seriously.

It’s for real.

Steph is thirteen, and she isn’t a little kid anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I... I was an ass.”

She shrugs, dropping her pencil. “Me too. I don’t want to fight with you. I was just scared.”

“Me too. I’m scared too.”

“Marlene is giving me my own room,” she says, and Ben grins slightly. “I mean, it’ll be in the basement, but you’ve seen it down there. It’s amazing!”

She’s right; it is actually pretty amazing. Fully finished and furnished, and she’d have her very own TV, and they wouldn’t have to fight over channels or movies anymore. And he can’t help but let his grin morph into a real smile, the first one he’s had since the accident, as his not-so-little sister explains her new floor plans and color schemes. She pulls out samples for the paint and everything, and he laughs at Leslie’s obvious influence.

~

_December 10, 1992_

It’s been a week.

And, of course, nothing is going right.

He’s been in the hospital for an entire week, so it makes complete and total sense he wakes up with a runny nose, sore throat, and a cough. Except it doesn’t make sense because he’s on antibiotics in the first place, and this shouldn’t be happening. He shivers beneath the two marvelously warm blankets Marlene brought from their house, but they aren’t their usual tropical oasis that sends Leslie squirming out from beneath them. Nope, they’re freezing, and he’s freezing, and he kind of needs water and some tissues and maybe a back rub if that were possible.

Ben reaches for the box of Kleenex in front of him, but Leslie’s hand gets there first, and he blushes when their fingers touch.

The instant he’s finished blowing his nose, tears leak out of his uncooperative eyes.

Breathe.

He can’t... He can’t.

There’s a surge of panic that races up his spine, and he instantly tries to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but he doesn’t get far. Shit. Breathe. Try to breathe. He repeats this stupid fucking mantra to himself like it’ll fix things. Like it’ll make this any better. But he’s exhausted, and he didn’t sleep last night, and he’s pretty sure he’s running a fever, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. It’s warm and hot and sticky and suddenly too cold for words.

He can’t breathe.

Can’t breathe.

He inhales shakily, but there’s this massive lump stuck in his aching throat. And fuck. Stop. Breathe. Take a breath. Try to focus on something else.

And that something else is a someone.

Leslie’s here. She’s here. And she’s holding his hand while there’s this thing placed over his mouth and nose, and the blankets are secure around him.

“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”

~

_December 11, 1992_

“Hey, you’re off the oxygen,” Marlene says, probably happier than he’s ever heard her sound before.

Ben nods. “Do... Do you know when I’ll get out of here?”

He knows it’s a long shot, at least for the next couple days. After yesterday, he doubts his doctor wants him going anywhere. Panic attack. That’s what it’s classified as. And now they’re tossing around terms like PTSD and anxiety like they’re normal, like he’s supposed to just lie back and accept that he’s fucked up. Which, by the way, is exactly what he does because his leg hurts, and whatever drug they keep putting in his IV to keep him calm really really works.

“Probably not for a few more days at least. You’re still really susceptible to infections.”

“This doesn’t count as an infection?” he questions, motioning briefly to the growing pile of used tissues on his table.

Marlene throws them into the trashcan immediately. “It does, which is most of the reason why you have to stay.”

He moans and sinks further into the pillows. They’re from Marlene’s. They’re green with pink polka dots everywhere, but he doesn’t care. They smell like Leslie, and they’re too insanely comfortable to pass up on. “I want to go home.”

And he feels... weird the second it slips from his mouth.

“Uh, wait,” he says. “No, I didn’t mean to make that sound like –”

And Marlene pulls him into a warm, comforting hug. “You’ll be home soon, sweetie. I promise.”

~

_December 12, 1992_

“It’s almost the twelve days til Christmas countdown,” Steph tells him.

She’s sprawled across the end of the bed, watching A Christmas Story on the TV for the fifth time in two days.

He can’t wait to get out of here.

“Do you know what you’re asking Santa for this year?” he asks with a smirk.

“Shut up.” She nudges his left foot gently. “Marlene let me pick out your new comforter set. Guess what? It’s plaid.”

He chuckles. “Go figure.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and his sister lays her head on her folded arms; he swears she falls asleep.

“I miss you, Ben. I’m really excited for you to come home.”

Tears swell in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. “I miss you too, Steph. And, don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in no time.”

~

_December 13, 1992_

“You’re finally busting out of this joint, Wyatt,” Leslie says with a ridiculously bright grin.

Marlene helps settle him into the wheelchair while Steph drapes a flannel blanket over his lap.

He sucks in a deep breath of air as the movements jar his leg. He knows he’ll basically be the most useless human in history. He can’t walk or even roll himself around until his elbow’s healed, but, at this point, he doesn’t care. Ben’s so ready to get out of here that he’s practically jumping for joy. Steph even mentioned she hasn’t seen him smile this much in months.

But that’s because, for the first time in forever, things are actually looking up.

Because he has Leslie and Steph and Marlene by his side, and he knows deep in his heart nothing bad can happen now.

The disgusting house on Cherry Street is no longer a part of their lives.

Steve’s gone.

And, for the first time since he was six years old, Ben Wyatt feels free.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to BenjisCoolTimes and SakuraBlossomStorm for beta-ing this for me!

_December 17, 1992_

“Uh-uh, Wyatt. Stay there,” Leslie scolds for the third time that hour. The dumbass thinks he’s going to walk around without a problem, as if his leg hadn’t been broken in several places two and a half weeks ago. As if he hadn’t just been released from the hospital four days earlier after two invasive surgeries to mend the shattered bone.

He sinks back into the fluffy pillows, bottom lip sticking out and everything. Damn him. He’s so handsome and adorable that she continuously finds it hard to not be in his presence. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispers. His voice is so quiet these days. He’s always been shy and crazily introverted, but it’s so much worse since the accident.

Since Steve almost killed him.

Leslie shakes her head slightly and tries to ignore the stabbing sensation in her gut. It’s been... weird. Kind of like a culture shock. They’re very different people, but they fit together seamlessly like waffles and whipped cream. And, now, the Wyatt siblings live with them. But the change isn’t at all what she expected. She doesn’t know why, but, even after everything they’ve been through, she imaged family dinners and picnics and shopping for Christmas presents. She imagined smiles and laughter surging through the house. She imaged peace for Steph and Ben.

Steph officially made the basement her home, decorated with bright teal paint and pictures of oceans, mountains, places far far away from here. Like she’s ready to pack up and go. Like she’s willing to disappear altogether. She’s been hiding out in solitary since Ben got here, drowning out her sorrows about her broken brother and fractured life with books and music.

And Ben...

Ben’s a completely different story.

“Hey, I’ll be home with you for three weeks straight after today,” she says soothingly. His eyes are so glassy and bloodshot, and he’s buried beneath his new plaid comforter with his leg elevated. She doesn’t want to go to school for a single second. Sure, her beautiful sunfish Ann Meredith Perkins is there, as well as her other friends, but there’s no one around to gawk at Mr. Ross’s potato chip collection (he has a sour cream and onion chip shaped like Teddy Roosevelt). There’s no one around to share nachos and a Coke, chatting about ice cream flavors and dog breeds and how in love they are with Madeleine Albright.

He sighs and reaches his bruised right hand out from under the blankets to rub at his eyes. She can’t do this. Her nerves are still frazzled, jumbled from seeing him in such an awful state in the hospital. She gently slides beneath the covers, careful not to jar his injuries. Her mom told her earlier that she hears him cry out in his sleep often, and she’ll come in and stroke his hair until his breathing evens out again. She can’t. She can’t watch him be this tormented anymore.

Ben tries to scoot over, but he frowns and grumbles in pain. She brushes his damp hair off his forehead. He’s been a little warmer than usual since last night; she wonders if she should tell her mom about it. She places her head on his chest, and he tucks his chin into her hair. “Please don’t go,” he whispers. “Please.”

It’s just the last day of school before winter break. It’s not like they’re doing anything educational anyway. She’ll show up, listen to some boring assembly where only the jocks participate, and go home. Maybe she should ask –

“Leslie, Stephanie, we’re leaving in two minutes!”

She palms his side when she feels him shift. The trembling fingers of his uninjured hand slide through her hair sweetly, and this is horrible. It’s so horrible. She doesn’t want to leave, and he doesn’t want her to go, but she can’t exactly skip classes either.

“I swear I’ll be home as soon as school’s over,” she promises, maneuvering to where she’s looking at him again. She takes mental note of the flushed cheeks and cutely messy hair. There are deep smudges beneath his brownie eyes. “Do you want me to bring you anything? A new comic or something?”

“N-No,” he says shakily. “Thank you though.”

And it’s one hell of a thank you because, suddenly, their lips crash together, and Ben’s tongue does these magical swirls in her mouth. And she’s dizzy as she grips at his long sleeved shirt, and his fingers rub over her hip. And Ben’s kissing her. Ben Wyatt’s kissing her hard and soft and slow all at once, and her heart can’t take much more from him. Because he’s smart and handsome and sexy like a wolf, and she wants him in every way imaginable.

“Don’t go,” he repeats softly, his minty breath hot on her neck when she pulls away.

She places her forehead against his and nods, rubbing her fingers over his cheek. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

“Leslie, we’re leaving,” her mom says, swinging open the door to the guest – Ben’s – room. “Come on, lovebirds. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

Tears swell in Ben’s eyes, and Leslie feels his pulse quicken beneath her touch.

“Mom,” she starts. She has to be very careful here. “I was wondering if I could –”

“You’re not staying home, Les.”

“But Ben –”

Her mom shakes her head. But her eyes soften, and she smiles sadly. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, alright?” she says to Ben.

Ben nods. He inhales sharply. “Okay.”

Leslie gives him eight more kisses before her mother has to pull her out the door.

~

“How was your last day of school?” Leslie asks Steph as she gets in the car.

There isn’t a response, and her heart plummets deep into the pit of her stomach.

Steph was relatively fine when Ben was in the hospital, but everything is different now. Leslie, her mom, and Steph moved everything out of Steve’s house a couple days ago, and she’s barely spoken since. Shock. Leslie knows it’s so new and strange, and she can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be for a thirteen year old to wrap her mind around. Her brother almost died, and their father is in prison. Everything she’s ever known is broken.

“Are you excited for break?”

She shrugs, and Leslie sighs.

“Hey,” she says. “Steph, please talk to me. Please tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Steph’s always been the more open one. During the summer they lived with Leslie and her mother, the younger Wyatt blossomed into such a magnificent, beautiful lady. She’s witty and insanely intelligent. She’s self-sufficient and reliable. She has all of these amazing qualities, even though she’s just entering her teenage years. She’s the one who keeps Ben in check. She’s the one who keeps her big brother talking and engaging with the world.

But now she’s sliding into a pit like him.

Leslie can’t let this happen to both of them.

“I know it’s hard. I have no idea what you’re actually feeling right now, but I do know that this isn’t easy,” Leslie presses. “Are you scared?”

Steph makes brief eye contact with her before Leslie has to look back at the snowy road in front of her.

“Nothing is going to happen to you guys ever again. My mom filed for permanent custody. It’s still in the works, and it could take a couple months to be official, but this is it for you, okay? This is your home now. We’re your family, and we won’t let anything hurt you ever again.”

Leslie glances briefly again at Steph, and she grins when the thirteen year old smiles for the first time in days.

~

It’s silent when Steph and Leslie arrive home. Eerily silent.

Her mom is usually chopping up vegetables (bleh) or whipping up waffle batter when they walk through the front door. The TV is always on, MTV or the news playing in the background. Sometimes, she’s on the phone with Mrs. Nichols down the street or Sherri from City Hall or arguing about school lunch wages with Kevin Anderson in Snerling.

But there’s nothing today.

Steph takes off her icy boots, setting her backpack on the ground before tiptoeing into the kitchen. She looks at Leslie, her brown eyes filled with worry.

Leslie knows Ben doesn’t have a doctor’s appointment today. Even if he did, it would’ve been way earlier in the day than four in the afternoon.

Panic rises up her throat, and she wants to call out, but she heads toward Ben’s bedroom instead with Steph following close behind her.

“Shh... You’re okay,” she hears from the other side of the door.

Leslie’s heart stops in her chest a she peeks through the crack. Steph squishes closer to her so she can see too.

Her mom is sitting on the edge of the mattress, her arms wrapped completely around Ben. He hides his face in the crook of her neck, and she gulps when she hears a sob break through her boyfriend, shattering the silence once and for all. But it’s such a private, tender moment that Leslie doesn’t storm in. Doesn’t take control like she always does. Doesn’t try to console Ben on her own. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull when Steph grabs her hand.

They sit down on the couch not long after that, Ben’s cries echoing off the walls.

~

It’s past nine when dinner is served.

Steph sets the table for three while Leslie gets the drinks. They ended up just ordering pizza, the salad (gross) and wonderfully seasoned chicken breast long forgotten about.

They munch on their slices of pepperoni in quiet until Steph finally speaks up.

“Is Ben okay?” The question is directed toward her mom, who wipes her lips with a napkin before answering.

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” she says softly after a moment, more softly than Leslie ever remembers her mom sounding.

Her mom is loud. Boisterous and filled with passion. Energy and excitement always blaze through her.

But not tonight.

Not since the accident.

“What can we do to make it better?” Steph asks. The thirteen year old glances at her plate. “I mean, I know I haven’t been the most helpful when it comes to taking care of him, but –”

“It’s not your job to take care of him,” her mom says.

“He’s my brother.”

“I know, honey. But Ben needs help. Real help.”

Leslie bites the inside of her cheek as Steph continues. “Is what happened earlier happening a lot? Like when we’re not around?”

But Leslie already knows the answer to that question.

It’s hard. It’s unbelievably and undeniably horrifying to have to explain this to a teenager, a girl who’s already been through so much. Steph’s experienced a lot of pain in her life, even with Ben always being the buffer to diffuse tension between her and Steve. But now Ben is crumbling before their eyes, and Leslie just got Steph to actually talk for the first time in four days. Even though it’s all over with Steve, their lives are just now beginning again.

This house isn’t filled with terror. Isn’t filled with hatred or anger. This house is filled with care and laughter and support, but, in the end, it doesn’t matter.

Not when Ben is clearly melting down.

Not when Steph is torn between speaking and becoming a mute.

Not when Leslie and her mom can’t do much to help either of them.

The damage has been done, and they have to pick up the pieces.

“It’s happening a lot, Steph,” her mother informs. “I’m taking him to the doctor tomorrow.”

“For his leg or his head? His head, right? Because of the nightmares?” Leslie and her mom exchange glances before Steph clarifies. “I live here too. I overhear you guys talking. There’s something wrong with Ben’s brain.”

It’s an oversimplification to say the least.

“Your brother will be okay,” her mom reassures. “I promise.”

~

“Shh... Hey,” Leslie whispers, running her fingers through his hair. “You’re alright, Ben. You’re alright.”

But his arm and leg are still in casts, and he’s still whimpering his way through nightmare after nightmare. Even though pain pills and antibiotics rampage through his battered body in hopes of solving some of the issues instead of creating more, he’s trapped in a reality where Steve controls his every movement, his every breath.

“He’s gone, sweetie. He’s gone.”

Tears spill over her cheeks as Ben clutches on to her (his) shirt with every ounce of his strength. She holds him close and rocks him back and forth. She rubs his back and whispers sweet nothings in his ear. But they don’t mean anything. Leslie tries to convince herself that she’s enough. She’s enough to pull Ben through to the other side, to help him see the light, to make him realize that Steve is never coming back.

She’s not enough. She knows she’s not.

Leslie used to believe that she held the power to unlock Ben Wyatt and help ease him into reality. Leslie used to believe that she could coax him through anything just by being beside him. But this is scarier than anything she’s ever experienced. This is build or break. This is confront or destroy. This is life or death.

And Ben has a lot to confront, and she’s not enough.

Her soul tears apart even thinking about that.

“’m sorry,” she hears Ben mumble eventually.

Leslie kisses his hair, her arms still firmly, but gently, wrapped around him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I have everything to be sorry for,” he whispers. “I-I... I shouldn’t even be here.”

She stops right there because no. No. That is so not going to fly with her.

“Ben,” she says softly, pulling away to make eye contact. He immediately looks down, and she cups her hand around his chin, forcing him to stay with her. “You belong here. With us. Please don’t feel like a burden or that we don’t want you. We love you. Steph loves you. And we just want you to get better.”

Tears swell in his bloodshot eyes, and she bites her lower lip. “But your mom... I wake her up all the time. And you guys have to do everything for me. I’m useless.”

“My mom doesn’t care what comes with the nightmares, babe. She cares that you’re hurting. She thinks you’re shutting down, and she wants to help. We all want to help you,” she tells him.

Ben shakes his head and collapses against the pillows. “I don’t wanna live like this anymore, Les.”

And her heart rips right in half.

~

_December 18, 1992_

Getting Ben out of the house is a challenge.

He has practically zero immobility. He’s still covered from head to toe in bruises. The casts are bulky and get in the way. Positioning him in a wheelchair often leaves Leslie, Steph, or her mom breathless. And she knows how badly it frustrates Ben. It would frustrate her too. But he constantly apologizes. He tells her mom that he’ll get a job and help pay her back for all of this once he’s better. He offers everything he has to make this right.

But there’s nothing wrong.

Okay, sure, there’s a lot wrong. But, no matter how many times they tell him, Ben thinks he’s a burden. Ben thinks he’s a waste of space. Ben thinks they want to toss him aside because he’s hurt. But it’s quite the opposite. Steph loves him so much. Leslie loves him so much. Her mom loves him so much. He’s incredibly thoughtful and sweet and tentative. He goes out of the way to make people smile, to know that they’re being listened to. He stands up and protects what is important to him. He’s the complete and total package of a man, but he just doesn’t see it.

There’s nothing wrong with who he is.

He needs some help. That’s it.

They’re in the waiting room at a counselor’s office. Ben didn’t want everyone to come, but Steph told him to shut up, and Leslie just kissed him to try to calm his worries. It’s agonizingly quiet in here. It’s too sterile. Leslie loves the chaos of life, the mess that comes with breathing and working, but this is... gross. There’s no other way to put it.

Ben’s chin droops toward his chest before he jolts and jerks it upright. He hasn’t been sleeping. He spends nights alternating between crying out because of nightmares or watching TV with Steph or Leslie or her mom on the other side of the bed, close by just in case. Leslie watches his eyes close, and she rubs her thumb over his almost healed knuckles.

“Benjamin Wyatt?” the receptionist calls, and he squeezes her hand tighter.

Leslie leans over and kisses him softly. “I love you, and I like you.”

He smiles ever so slightly. “I love you, and I like you.”

~

The therapist prescribes him medicine for the nightmares and anxiety. She also recommends he take vitamins and come in for counseling twice a week. Her mom agrees to the suggestions quickly.

By the time they get home, Ben’s crashing. He usually tries to help get in and out of the wheelchair, but this time he focuses on keeping his eyes open. He groans when Leslie accidentally puts too much pressure on his left arm, and she apologizes gently. Her mom situates his leg, elevating it with pillows and placing an icepack wrapped in a towel on his shin because she knows that’s the area that hurts the most.

“Alright,” her mom says, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress while Leslie maneuvers herself to the other side of the bed. Steph plops in the wheelchair. Ben shifts, wincing as he pulls the blankets over his chest. He yawns, and Leslie smiles sadly. “Do you guys have any questions?”

Her mom’s always been like this, even when it was just her and Leslie. She wants to make sure everyone is on the same page.

“When does he have to stop taking all this medicine?” Steph asks, shyly glancing at Ben before returning her attention to Leslie’s mother.

“Well, the antibiotics and painkillers will go away soon, but Dr. Carson thinks the others might be permanent.”

Steph frowns. “So he’ll take this stuff for the rest of his life?”

“Most likely,” her mom says. “But there’s nothing wrong with that. Medicine is here to help people feel better, and, if Ben needs this, then we’ll support him.”

The thirteen year old nods. “I want him to get better.”

“He will,” Leslie and her mom say at the same time.

Leslie tries not to notice how Ben says nothing, like he’s not fully convinced recovery is an option.

“Can I go to sleep now?” Ben asks. “Since you guys are talking about me like I’m not here and everything.”

“Hey, we’re just trying to –” her mom starts.

“You’re just trying to help. Yeah. I’ve heard that a thousand times. But you know what would help? You guys leaving me alone.”

But his eyes are narrow and focused and unaffected by pain medication. His teeth clinch, and sweat drips from his forehead.

“Babe –”

Ben shakes his head. “No. I’m done with this, Leslie. Please... Just go.”

Her mom sighs and briefly holds her hands up in defeat, taking Steph’s hand and escorting her out of the room without another word.

“That means you too,” Ben says, making actual eye contact with her for the first time all day.

“Okay, what is going on with you?”

Because this... This isn’t what she expects either. Sure, she expects him to be a little withdrawn and confused. She expects him to silently try to pull himself together. She even expects those bouts of earth shattering silence, the type of silence that shakes her to her very core because she loves Ben more than anything. But this anger is very unsettling.

But Ben just hisses as he tugs the comforter up to his chin.

“I’m tired,” he tells her, and she gets the message.

“Fine. Have it your way then.”

~

_December 19, 1992_

“What are we supposed to do?” Steph questions, dumping mini marshmallows into her cup of hot chocolate. “He won’t talk to me.”

“He won’t talk to any of us,” Leslie’s mom says as she pokes through the bare pantry for something to make for dinner. They haven’t exactly had much time to go out and do anything, much less grocery shopping or searching for Christmas presents. And, even though her all-time favorite holiday is less than a week away, there’s nothing but dread gnawing at her bones. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop talking to him.”

Leslie shrugs. “He wants to be left alone. Why don’t we give him what he wants?”

Steph and her mom exchange glances before staring at her like she’s lost her mind.

“You’re kidding right? You love him more than anyone,” Steph reasons.

“And?”

“And we’re not gonna give up on him just because he’s cranky and frustrated,” her mom says.

Leslie sighs. She wants to bury her head in her hands and scream. She wants to run to City Hall and sit at the wallflower mural on the second floor. She wants to cry until there aren’t any tears left. She glances at the dining room table in front of her. She glances at Ben’s unoccupied seat and swallows thickly, tears pooling in her tired eyes.

“Yeah, he’s always like this when he feels like he’s being a burden,” Steph says.

She knows. She knows how self-deprecating and loathing Ben is. She knows that Ben hates himself for even allowing Steph to live in that house with Steve. She knows that Ben wants the best for everyone, except for himself.

And no. This isn’t how it’s going to be. They’re here for him. They’re all here for him. They want to help him get better, to let his wounds heal and help lift him back up. He needs to know that for real, even if it means telling him over and over again until she’s blue in the face. Until he understands how serious they are. Until she’s dead if that’s what it comes to.

Leslie stands up, straightens out Ben’s plaid shirt that she’s borrowing (keeping), and marches down the hall to his room.

The TV off, it’s pitch black and too warm. She clicks on his bedside lamp before sitting in the wheelchair, eyebrows furrowing as Ben jolts.

“We love you,” she tells him. “We love you so much, Ben. Why won’t you let us help you?”

She tries not to take notice of that the whites of his eyes are entirely bloodshot. She tries not to notice the dried tear tracks on his flushed cheeks that indicate he’s been crying alone. She tries not to notice the chapped lips or how the glass of water beside him is untouched for the third day in a row. But even glancing in his direction is the most painful thing she’s ever experienced.

“I’m broken, Leslie,” he says quietly, so quietly she barely hears him. “You guys don’t wanna deal with this for the rest of your lives.”

“The rest of our lives? Ben, that cast comes off your arm right after the New Year, and you’ll be walking around not long after that.”

“Are you shitting me? My leg’s broken in three places. I’ve got six weeks in this cast, six more weeks in whatever contraption they put me in next, and who knows what’ll happen after that. Don’t you get it? I’m done for... I-I can’t take care of you guys like this.”

“Ben, let someone take care of you for once in your life,” Leslie says. “You’d be a lot happier if you –”

He stops her. “What? Just complied? Just let you guys wait on me hand and foot because I can’t do anything for myself? No. I don’t want that, and neither should any of you. You know what? I’m gonna find somewhere else to stay.”

But she immediately pushes him back against the pillows when he goes to fully sit up.

“You’re not going anywhere, okay?” she tells him, her hands still on his shoulders.

He shakes his head, struggling against her touch, but she holds firm. “No. Please. Leslie, let me go. Let me go.”

“Ben, stop. This is ridiculous. You can’t just leave us, alright? You’re hurt. You’re having nightmares. You need us, and, more importantly, we need you.”

A broken sob escapes Ben.

She stops holding him down and starts holding him instead.

“You guys don’t need me,” he tells her through his cries. “You’re b-better off without me.”

Leslie rubs his back as he melts against her, hiding his face in her neck and shielding himself away from the world. Even though she tries hard to make them stop, tears stream down her cheeks. Ben’s tears coat her skin within seconds.

“Shh... Shh... Hey, you’re alright,” she whispers soothingly. “We need you. We want to help you. We love you.”

Ben nods, and she wraps him up even tighter.

~

_December 20, 1992_

“You need to eat.”

He scowls, and Leslie tries not to burst into a happy dance because it’s the first time he’s been this expressive since the accident. But he nods anyway, spearing a piece of pork chop with his fork.

It certainly isn’t easy, but her mom’s decided he needs to stop being cooped up in his room. Now, they make sure to eat as a family. Of course, this means getting Ben situated in the wheelchair and brought out to the dining room, pillows cushioning his leg and arm. He won’t start his new meds for a few more days and is still not sleeping, but this seems to do wonders. They just started doing this last night at dinner, but Ben’s already smiled more than he has in months.

“Have you started looking at the assignments you missed yet?” her mom asks.

“Ooh, the project about weather systems is so much fun!” Leslie cuts in.

Ben shrugs. “A little.”

“Maybe that’s what you should focus on soon. You have a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. I didn’t know seniors learned about the weather though.”

“No, you’ll love it, Benjamin!” Leslie tells him excitedly. “I even made a diorama! You can borrow it for ideas if you want.”

“Well, dioramas are pretty cool,” he says. “Did you see the one April made for Mrs. Cutkosky’s class for the War of 1812?”

“The one with the fingers?” she questions, bouncing in her chair.

Steph’s eyebrows furrow. “Okay, wow. You guys are major nerds.”

~

_December 22, 1992_

“Why don’t we try to sleep?” Leslie suggests.

It’s past 4:30 in the morning. She’s been perfectly content, cuddled up in Ben’s bed with a bowl of popcorn and a pack of Red Vines between them, but she hasn’t stopped yawning in what seems like years. Usually, she’s absolutely amazing at staying up for nights on end, but this just so happens to be day four with little sleep on her part, and she could go for some z’s. Or a unicorn. Or a house made out of chocolate. Or, at the very least, a cup of coffee.

Honestly, just some sleep will do.

“You can go ahead,” Ben says for the seventh time in an hour. “I swear I’ll be quiet.”

But Leslie glances over and takes one look at his droopy eyes. She shouldn’t even be in here this late in the first place because her mom will freak out, but he wanted to watch The Jungle Book, and she simply can’t say no to such a classic (also, spending time with a communicative form of Ben is always a bonus). Except they finished watching it before the clock struck eleven.

She knows she should head upstairs to her room, but she doesn’t. At this point, she doesn’t even care if her mom walks in and sees. Sure, she might get grounded for an eternity, but he’s her boyfriend, and he lives here now, so it’s not like her mom will ban her from seeing him. She’ll probably just ground her from candy necklaces or shop talk at the dinner table anyway.

Leslie clicks off his bedside lamp, curling up further beneath the comforter and placing her head on Ben’s chest. His heart pounds, and he immediately wraps his working arm around her, kneading at the flesh around her spine.

She hears him open his mouth and suck in a shaky breath of air.

“Hey, you’re alright,” she whispers. “I’ll be right here. Please at least close your eyes for a little bit.”

Ben kisses her hair and complies wordlessly.

~

_December 24, 1992_

Usually, they host a party on Christmas Eve.

The whole neighborhood shows up. Her mother’s coworkers attend, and Leslie’s friends stop by. Her mom makes enough food for an entire galaxy worth of people, and Leslie greets each person that steps foot through their door, spreading the holiday cheer one smile at a time.

But they opt not to do that this year. With all of the transitioning they’ve been doing, it makes the most sense to lay low, watch movies, eat lots of food, and snuggle on the couch instead. So, Steph sprawls out on the living room floor on a mountain of pillows, and Leslie’s mom reclines back in her squishy chair. Ben’s pillowed head is in Leslie’s lap, and she strokes his hair. It’s a Wonderful Life plays on the TV, but she’s a bit too distracted by Ben kissing her hand. He pecks each finger individually, and she giggles.

Which just prompts Steph to turn around with her face scrunched. “You two can stop being gross any time now.”

Ben sticks his tongue out at his sister. “Come over here and make me.”

Steph chuckles. “Haha. Yeah right. You wouldn’t stand a chance against these muscles, squirt.”

“Squirt?” he questions with a laugh. An actual laugh. She isn’t sure she’s heard him laugh for real since months before the accident.

And, even if Leslie doesn’t get a single present this year, Ben’s laughter is more than enough.

~

_December 25, 1992_

“Wake up, San Francisco!” Leslie shouts, barging into Ben’s bedroom, where both Wyatt siblings are fast asleep. Huh. She only expected to find her elfish boyfriend in here, but, hey, it must be a two for one sale today because it’s Christmas. Sure, it’s only five AM, but who cares? It’s the best day of the year!

Steph instantly shoots out of bed, throwing her messy hair into a quick ponytail before clapping her hands excitedly (Leslie knew her giddiness would rub off on someone).

“You’re watching way too much Full House, Knope,” Ben grumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

They both help Ben into his wheelchair, and Steph escorts him to the living room while Leslie hugs her mom, who’s making hot chocolate and flipping pancakes.

“I’m gonna go get my camera!” Steph exclaims happily. “Don’t start opening presents without me! I’m looking at you, Benji.”

Her brother smiles and throws a hand up in the air innocently. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Leslie’s settling down on the couch when Ben randomly pulls a box out of his reindeer pajama pants.

“What’s this?” she questions, taking it from him skeptically.

He shrugs. “There’s only one way to find out, love.”

“Ben, where did you get this? How did you get this?” Leslie questions, her pulse hammering in her ears as she covers her mouth with her hands.

Her boyfriend smirks (damn him and his stupidly cute mouth parts) and shrugs. “I have my ways, m’lady.”

It’s a necklace. A beautiful, shimmering necklace. Her fingers tremble as she pulls it out of the green and blue box on her lap. She’s so in love with him that she isn’t even sure she can process thoughts.

She’s about ready to put the necklace on when she spots a tiny corner of white sticking out.

Leslie pulls out a piece a neatly folded paper and grins brightly enough for tears to swell in her eyes.

_Thank you for saving me. Thank you for being the other half of my heart._

_I love you, and I like you._

_\- Ben_

And her boyfriend is there in a heartbeat, hugging her, kissing her, holding her close. “I love you so much, Les,” he whispers.

“I love you so much, Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! :)


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